Page 47 of Thorns of Death
“I’m home,” I yelled to nobody in particular. My voice traveled through the foyer and up the stairs. But there was no reply.
Good, Illias wasn’t here. Not that I expected him to be, but you never knew with my brother.
My boots squeaked against the polished marble floors as I made my way through the castle and toward my brother’s office.
No time like the present to dig through our family’s secrets.
FIFTEEN
ENRICO
Istared out the window at two of my discrete guards patrolling as if they were passersby. There were also a handful in the security room, monitoring the area through the security feeds.
Kingston’s text kept playing on repeat in my mind.
She’s in Russia. In Konstantin’s home. I don’t linger in Russia.
I fucking knew that. The man would set fire to the country if he could, and I wouldn’t even blame him.
So here I was considering my next step with the ginger-haired beauty instead of focusing on the files strewn across my desk. One of the Marchetti legal entities had finally secured the billion-dollar contract for the French government building we’d been pursuing for months. It was a key location for both our legal empire and our smuggling business. Despite what this would mean for my legacy as the head of this family, I couldn’t get Isla’s smiling face out of my mind. The way she looked when I got that call. I swore I got blue balls as I walked away from her even though I had fucked her mere minutes before.
And now, she was in Russia.
Goddamn it. I should have answered her text. Made some concrete plans with her so she wouldn’t leave the city. Although I didn’t think it was my non-responsiveness that overwhelmed her. It had to be something else.
As if the universe were sending me a message, my phone buzzed. My eyes flitted to the phone screen and my heart squeezed in a weird way. Discounting it as stress, I slid the message open.
Fool me once; shame on you. Fool me twice; shame on me. We are done. Don’t contact me again.
I typed a message back.
Are we back to that again? Whatever is the matter, we will talk about it and solve it.
The reply was very mature. A line of twenty “fuck you” emojis.
My cell buzzed again.
Thanks for the experience. Our time has expired. Now exit my life. Capisce?
Once it was clear I wouldn’t be dragging anything out of this woman via texts, I dialed up Kingston. He answered on the first ring. “Marchetti.”
“Kingston, did Donatella approach Isla while you were tailing her?”
“No, but there was a short window where I didn’t have eyes on her.”
“Why?” I barked.
“A moron cyclist almost ran into her and her friend. Had to teach him how to ride a bike.”
I shook my head. Sometimes Kingston was a mirror image of Alexei Nikolaev. “Is he still alive?”
“Depends on what you consider alive.”
“I wonder about you,” I muttered under my breath.
“Ditto.”
He ended the call without another word.
