Page 43 of Death

Christ, I wish she’d start feeling safe with me.

Time creeps by, and after what feels like hours, I turn onto my stomach and prop my chin on my forearms, my eyes resting on the trunk.

The lid starts to lift, and I quickly turn my head to the side and close my eyes, pretending to be asleep. I listen as Ciara moves, thinking she’s going to the bathroom, but I’m surprised as fuck when I feel her slowly getting onto the bed.

Minutes pass, and wanting to connect with her a little more, I whisper, “The trunk is very special to me. It’s all I have left of my family.”

I open my eyes and see that she’s lying as close to the side as she can without falling off, her hands tucked beneath her head. I sit up, and grabbing the other pillow, I place it down in front of her.

“Put it under your head.”

I wait for her to do as she’s told, then I carefully pull the covers over her.

I lie down on my back again and let out a slow breath as happiness and relief trickle into my chest.

“Santiago,” she whispers.

“Yes,mi sol.”

“What happened to your family?”

“They were massacred when I was fourteen. I survived because I hid in the trunk.”

She’s quiet for a while before saying, “I’m sorry.” Another few seconds pass, then she admits, “My dad was killed the day after Nolan took me.”

I turn my head toward her. “Did Nolan kill him?”

Her eyes meet mine in the dark. “No. Men attacked the house and…” she pauses, and I can feel how she tenses. “Other men killed him.”

Pushing my luck, I ask, “How did you know Nolan before he kidnapped you?”

“He was a guard.”

A frown forms on my forehead. “What’s your father’s name?”

She shakes her head and curls into a small ball again.

If her family had guards, it means they were prominent people. The average person doesn’t have a protective detail.

Who of importance has died in the past year?

I stare up at the ceiling, itching to pull out my phone so I can search the internet.

Time passes, and I begin to feel sleepy, but just before I doze off, my body jerks, and my eyes snap open.

The day Dominik and Grace got married, her father, Ian Devlin, was assassinated by the Bratva. They wanted to take over the arms market, but instead, Dominik kept control over it. Right after that, the alliance was formed.

I turn my head to Ciara, my heart speeding up in my chest.

I don’t know much about Grace’s family. I haven’t bothered to ask about them, but she hasn’t mentioned anything about a sister or cousin being missing.

Needing answers right now, I get up and walk out of the bedroom. I pull the door shut behind me and remove my phone from my pocket.

I type in Ian Devlin and go to photos. A second later, I stare at a picture of Devlin, Grace, and Ciara.

Ciara is smiling, her arms hooked through Grace’s, and I’m struck speechless by the happiness and innocence on her face.

I tap on the photo and read the article, learning that Ciara is, in fact, Devlin’s youngest daughter.

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