Page 122 of The King of Hearts

I spin on my heel and go back to the front of the house where the stairs are. I take them two at a time. Obviously, she’s not in the library because that’s where Beatrice and my mother just came from. Her art studio, the library, and our room are the only places Savina frequently visits. The garden is a possibility, but Beatrice said Savina’s already been out there, so the chances are she’s in our room.

The lingering scent of her perfume permeates the air as I walk through our empty bedroom to the adjoining bathroom. It’s empty, and so is the walk-in closet.

Where in the fuck is she?

The car Marcelo uses to escort my wife around was in the driveway, so her being out isn’t a possibility. Besides, Marcelo would have informed me before he took her off of the property.

I’m descending the stairs three at a time, unease in the pit of my stomach growing stronger by the minute. Something isn’t right.

Just as my foot touches the last step, Marcelo rounds the corner, coming from the direction of the sitting room. His one good eye looks hard, and his body is strung tight.

“I just found Max with his throat slit in the sitting room.”

“Fuck,” I grit out. “Where in the hell is she?”

“I left her here while I escorted Liliana and Harper back to the Rivers’. I was only gone for twenty minutes. I got back five minutes ago, but I haven’t seen her.”

I spin on my heel to go back to her art studio. It looks the exact same as it did a few minutes ago. Nothing is out of place. Savina has always been meticulous when it comes to her art supplies. Each item has a place, and she’s particular when she puts her supplies away.

No, thereissomething out of place. I stalk over to the end of the table where all of her paints are. I didn’t catch it at first because the table leg was in the way. A small puddle of red coats the floor, and if it wasn’t for the small jar tipped on its side, I may have mistaken it for blood.

No fucking way Savina would have left this. I’m pretty sure she would have hyperventilated when she saw this mess because she’s so anal about her supplies and keeping her work space as clean as possible.

I hear Marcelo come inside the room, but I ignore him as I take out my phone and pull up a tracking app.

I told Savina the birth control she had inserted in her arm a while back was a placebo, but the small device is actually a tracker. I didn’t tell her about it to avoid the shitstorm I knowshe would have caused. That device wasn’t leaving her body, no matter how much she fought me on it. She’s not aware of the notes and pictures I’ve received, or the threat they pose, and I felt no reason to inform her of them. That tracking device was put in place for this very fucking reason. If by some chance the person managed to get to her.

I don’t know if that’s what happened or if she left on her own. The spilled paint on the floor indicates she didn’t leave of her own volition.

The small red dot on my phone flashes, indicating Savina’s exact location.

The Reef.

“Follow me,” I order Marcelo, striding past him. “She’s at The Reef,” I toss over my shoulder.

Our rapid footsteps echo against the walls as we rush for the front door. We’re halfway down the front steps when I briefly notice Mrs. Myers pulling her SUV around to the side of the estate where she’ll unload the mountain of groceries she bought. Marcelo makes it to his side first, as I’m forced to walk around the car to get in the driver’s side. Dust and rocks kick up behind the car when I slam my foot down on the gas.

The Reef is only a few miles away, along the coast between my estate and the Rivers’. But the mile-long driveway that leads to the lighthouse is full of potholes. I give no fucks to the damage that’s done to my car as I race down the uneven road.

The tires slide against the sandy dirt when I pull to a stop in front of the lighthouse a few minutes later. I don’t bother shutting off the engine, and barely manage to put it in Park, as I get out and run to the door of the old lighthouse, pulling the gun out of the back waistband of my pants. Marcelo is hot on my heels. I left the keys in the ignition, so I use a well-placed kick against the wood to open it. It bangs against the wall, barely held on at the hinges.

As I look from one door to another, deciding which to check first, my thoughts go in all different directions. I have no fucking clue what I’m about to walk into. Or what I’m going to find. The worst-case scenario is finding Savina dead, but I refuse to entertain that option.

I point my gun to the door on the left. “Check that one,” I tell Marcelo.

While he goes to that door, I take the one on the right. There’s one more room if these come up empty.

The grip on my gun tightens as I approach the door. I stay quiet and listen carefully. When I hear nothing coming from the other side, I twist the knob and push the door open.

What I find inside isn’t what I expected. Nor is it what I wanted to find. The room is empty. After the bodies of the people who are brought here are disposed of, a couple of guys come in to clean the rooms. They’re never spotless—you can never get that level of cleanliness in a place like this—but all of the walls and the floor are hosed down, and the tools are given a basic rinse.

This room, which is the one Savina and I used to torture Joseph in a week ago, seems to have gone through the same treatment. Since the murder was off the books, one of my personal guys did the cleaning.

Marcelo walks in the room behind me. “Both rooms are clean,” he informs me.

Ignoring him, I walk farther into the room, some instinct calling me forward. This is where her tracker led me. Over by the table of tools where the light doesn’t quite hit the floor, there’s a small wet spot. I go to it and squat down. I touch the spot with my index finger and lift it to the light.

Blood. I look back at the spot and notice something on the floor, just under the edge of the table.

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