“Let Anya go.”
“Stay away, and she’ll remain safe.”
I moved to get into the house, but he blocked me. Farther down, several of his men guarded the hallway. I’d never get past them.
“Anya!” I called out.
He pressed his hand to my chest. “Try it. Blood will be spilled and not just yours.”
Jesus, he really was evil enough to threaten her life.
“You can have your gold,” I said. “There’s got to be at least thirty million. I’ll personally bring it back. Give me Anya and you get the gold.”
“You’ll bring back my gold for my daughter?” He smirked. “You’ve got some balls.”
Looking past him, I tried to see if Anya was in there. “She’s not your daughter, though, is she? Archie isn’t your son, either.”
“The truth is, I do want my gold back. It is, after all—” He yelled the rest, “My fucking gold!” He calmed down quickly like a psychopath with spittle on his lip. “Let’s negotiate. Your life for the gold.”
“I want to speak with her.”
“Go have a meal, Cassius, as it’s going to be your last. Make it count.”
“You don’t love her.”
His brows arched. “I did buy her for a fair price.”
“In Russia, right?” I watched his reaction.
“Stay away from my family.”
“I’m coming for them.”
His eyes widened with this dark promise.
Because he knew that I knew.
Just beyond him, two men headed for us. Big men with big attitudes who could mess everything up if I didn’t use caution.
“If you want your gold, keep your dogs at bay,” I said through clenched teeth.
“Are you going to beg for your life like your father did?”
I should have punched him for that. Still, there was more damage to be done to him if I kept my cool and kept walking. I ignored this burning desire to kill Stephen in cold blood and his men along with him.
He called after me. “You’re a dead man walking.” Anya would be dead, too. I knew that in the very marrow of my bones. Walking away meant that I might keep her alive until I could get back to her.
Driving away from the house at breakneck speed, I pulled over and parked at the edge of the Garden District. I vaguely watched a tram go by with a few passengers inside. Tourists, maybe.
Fishing out my phone, I placed Stephen’s address into the search engine. Ascot Residential came up as the realtor who’d sold the Glassmans their property on Fifth Street. The house had cost them a few million fourteen years ago.
Another property came up.
A house within driving distance.
Interesting.
Maybe this was the answer I had been searching for.
She’d offered up each clue for me, and all I’d had to do was listen and decipher them.
The truth was glaring in all its cruel reality. Stephen hadn’t expected me to take this long to take revenge. He’d played out his sick plan and seen an end to it.
Ascot Residential had its realtor’s office on Magazine Street.
An easy drive.
Anya
Mom’s voice echoed against the walls from downstairs.
I didn’t care about seeing her, but maybe she’d brought Archie back. Bitterness shuddered through me in a mixture of anger and regret. Anger for the turmoil she’d caused in not protecting us from my father, and regret for ever trusting her.
Gripping the banister, I descended the stairway, ready to face off with her.
That was a lie.
I’d never be ready to face off with the woman who’d rejected me when I’d needed her the most. A pivotal moment at Mardi Gras when she’d pulled back her hand and let me fall into the abyss causing gut-wrenching agony to settle and swirl and harden my heart.
Or maybe she’d done me a favor.
She should be bolting up the staircase to meet me halfway. Screaming my name with relief her daughter was home safe. Doing something, anything to prove she loved me, and whatever happened at Mardi Gras was a misunderstanding.
She didn’t realize her actions pushed me even more in the direction of loving Cassius. The only person I trusted in all of this. The only time I’d ever felt truly loved and cherished was with him. As soon as I knew Archie was safe, I’d leave.
Hushed voices came from the kitchen. Boldly, I nudged the door open and peered in, scanning the room for Archie.
Mom looked different somehow. Her hair coiffed to perfection as always, and that Chanel suit pristine. Her sickly rich perfume wafted across the kitchen. Dad’s jaw was tight with the usual tension as he watched my reaction, perhaps gauging my loyalty to them. If this was baptism by fire to survive these people, then I’d have to endure the heat and continue faking my loyalty.
Maybe they’d suspect with Archie not here, there was no reason for me to stay. Finding my brother was all that mattered. He was vulnerable and needed me. Every decision felt like it made a difference to whether we survived this.
“Here she is.” Mom walked toward me with open arms.
Entering the kitchen, I fell into her hug, pressing my cheek against her chest, feigning I was the good daughter who needed them. Wrapping my arms around her, I acted like she was all that mattered in life. They were all that mattered. Playing into their game, I hoped to convince them I was oblivious to what they were.
“I’ve been frantic,” she said breathlessly.
“Mom.”
“My poor baby,” she cooed.
The sickly scent of Dark Dahlia enveloped me, that familiar perfume bringing back every memory screeching like a car crash in my mind.
“I couldn’t sleep until you were home.” She planted a kiss on the top of my head.
My cheek pressed against the scratchy fabric of her jacket.
She held me at arm’s length. “We did everything we could.”
“I know,” I said, trying to be cheerful.
“You’ve suffered a terrible ordeal.”
“He didn’t hurt me,” I offered.
“When you’re feeling up to it, you can tell us everything.”
“Maybe we should take you to the hospital?” Stephen’s compassion was almost convincing. “We don’t want to force you.”
I lied with a smile. “He let me come back to you.”
“Your father made it happen.” Mom’s tone was full of pride. “He reached out to his contacts and got you home safe.”
Really? Because I kind of think I came back of my own volition.
“Are you hungry?” she asked kindly. “What can I make you? We can order in if you’d like.”
“Can I talk to Archie?” I made the request sound casual.
“Of course.” She shrugged. “Let’s set up a call.”
“When is he coming home?”
“When we feel it’s safe.”
“It’s safe for me.” I subdued the taint of sarcasm.
“I’ll let you two catch up.” Stephen strolled by us. “Glad to have you home, pumpkin.”
We both watched him walk out with the stride of a man who seemingly held all this together with his sheer will.
With him gone, I felt braver as I turned back to Mom. “Where were you?”