Page 93 of Wrathful King
He let out an exasperated breath. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”
“Papà’s going to kill him,” I gritted. “And I’m going to help him.”
He stood up and came around the desk, pulling me into him. “How about we let Dante and Phoenix figure out what they’re doing, huh?”
“But—”
“Has she sent you a message asking for help?” I shook my head. “Then let those two figure it out.”
“But… ugh. Amon, he already broke her heart once.” He tilted his head, waiting for me to elaborate. “I didn’t know about it until three years ago. She still won’t talk about it, but your brother hurt her.”
“He hit her?” His tone turned sharp.
“Oh, no. Not that. She said they had something going on and then he pretended not to know her.”
He stiffened. “When did that happen?”
“I don’t know,” I murmured. “She can barely talk about it, but I’m telling you. She hates him; she wouldn’t marry him. Not willingly, anyhow.”
He reached for his own cell phone and dialed his brother. Nothing. He did it again. “Goddammit, Dante,” he gritted. Then he started typing fast, his graceful fingers moving across the screen. It took a minute, maybe two, and he let out a frustrated growl. “Fuck, he’s gone dark. I have no way of tracking him.”
“We’re going to kill him,” I spat, then hesitated. “Right? I know he’s your brother, but he can’t get away with this.” My hesitation evaporated and chaotic emotions swirled through me instead. “Yes, we have to kill him.”
Amon let out a chuckle. “Actually, he’s your brother, and no, we won’t kill him. Trust me, Phoenix would have reached out. Maybe it can be their second chance, like how we got ours.”
My mind buzzed with the reminder of the pain I saw on my sister’s face, sending goosebumps erupting over my body. “I don’t like it, Amon. Besides, I think we’re on our third chance.”
He smiled. “Only because people keep meddling.” He tightened his arms around me, his scent clashing with mine. “Five years ago, Dante was kidnapped.”
I gasped. “What?”
“To this day, we don’t know who did it, but when I finally paid the ransom, he came back… different. He was darker, needed an outlet for his anger—”
“What?” I screeched. “And you think it’s safe to leave Phoenix with him?”
Amon ignored my question. “The torture he endured resulted in a form of amnesia. He still doesn’t remember certain things from our childhood, but the weeks and months surrounding the kidnapping is a blank canvas. It’s like it was wiped from his mind.”
Understanding dawned on me.
Dante really didn’t remember her. Jesus Christ. How many men, women, and children in the underworld had suffered? Somehow it seemed like the answer was every single one.
“So you saved him too,” I murmured.
He shook his head. “I should have worked faster. Angelo Leone refused to strike a deal, letting them torture him within an inch of his life.”
“So it was all about money?” I asked incredulously.
“That’s what they asked for.” He looked away. “It never made sense why Angelo refused to pay it or even disclose it.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. How could a father not pay his own child’s ransom?
My eyes landed on the painting, still sitting on the desk, facing down. An idea struck.
“You know,” I started. “Raven told me once that artists like to add information about their work in the backs of their paintings. She saidsomepainters, dating all the way back to the Renaissance, even liked to pass on sensitive information through the art world in this way.” I picked up the painting. “May I?”
“Be my guest.”
I ran my finger along the seams, bringing my face right up to it, and studied it with a keen eye. “Of course, she could have been blowing smoke up my ass,” I muttered, but just then, I heard a soft click, and a secret compartment in the frame was revealed.
