Page 46 of Blood Heir

I blink. “My clothes?”

He steps closer and murmurs, “He usually plants trackers on you.”

My breath catches, pulse racing again, a fresh layer of dread sliding beneath my skin.

I stare at him, lips parted, half-expecting him to burst into laughter again. But this time, he doesn't.

“Fee, I’m serious,” Gustavo says, his voice calm, low. Too calm. “You need to check.”

I narrow my eyes. My fingers glide over my clothes, brushing my scarf, my waistband, pockets—until my fingertips graze something small and hard, tucked deep inside my jeans pocket. My breath stills.

I pull it out slowly. A tiny black tracker. Smooth, round, blinking faintly.

I stare at it for a second, the heat rising to my cheeks. My jaw tightens as the realization sinks in.

“The demented son of a gun,” I mutter under my breath.

Gustavo’s gaze stays fixed on me. He doesn’t smirk this time.

I clutch the tiny device tighter in my palm, inhale deeply, and turn to him, determined. “Take me to my friends. If I have friends, I want to see them. I need to know who they are.”

He nods quickly, eyes flicking to the hallway. “Follow me.”

He reaches for my hand, warm and steady. I hesitate for a brief second but let him lead me down the long, sterile corridors.

Every few steps, my pulse quickens.

We step outside the estate’s side entrance, the early evening breeze kissing my skin. The tension coils tighter in my stomach the farther we walk.

“Stop,” I say. My voice echoes against the high stone walls.

I pull my hand away from his and stride toward a guard stationed near the edge of the property, standing stiff like a statue.

The man stiffens as I approach, likely recognizing me.

I press the beeping tracker into his palm, leaning in close enough that only he can hear me. My voice drops to a slow whisper. “Deliver this to Signore Accardi. And tell him….”

I pause, smiling faintly.

“Tell him to go fuck himself.”

The guard gulps, nodding silently as I pull away and straighten my scarf.

I turn back to Gustavo, sliding my sunglasses down over my eyes like a shield. “Let’s go.”

We slip into his car—a sleek black sedan waiting just beyond the main gates. The heavy gates close behind us with a quiet groan as we pull out onto the narrow road.

For a brief moment, I let myself exhale, relaxing against the seat. My heart beats faster with anticipation. Friends. People who might know who I am. Pieces of the puzzle waiting to be handed back to me.

I stare out the window, watching as the city shifts from manicured estates to winding suburban streets.

Then I feel it.

A shift.

I sense his gaze before I even turn.

He glances at me out of the corner of his eye, his fingers tightening on the wheel. His face hardens, like a mask slipping into place.

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