“A new chemical’s being passed around,” I say casually. “It’s lethal. Highly addictive. And in large quantities, can cause seizures and foaming at the mouth.”
“Who—?”
“I’m not going to tell you that,” I say smoothly. “And you know it. That’s all I know for now. I really should go. I’ll be in touch.”
I march away from him before I do something monumentally stupid, like strip him naked and suck his cock.
Carmine has a grade-A penis.
And it’s off-limits.
“Have a good day.”
“Wait,” he says as he hurries after me. “Where are you staying?”
“Oh, don’t worry. I’ll be around.”
“Nadia.”
“Goodbye, Carmine.”
I hop in the car and zoom away from his house.
I’m not good at emotions. I’m excellent at keeping myself aloof. Cold, even. I don’t mind being called the ice princess at all. Because when emotions get tangled up in business, you die.
And I’m not ready to meet Satan yet. Or, should I say, he’s not ready for me?
I don’t like that I feel things when I’m around Carmine. It’s purely physical.
“Yeah, keep telling yourself that,” I mutter as I drive toward the freeway.
I knew the several months I spent with Carmine were a lie. He didn’t love me, and I certainly didn’t love him. We were merely playing house. Manipulating each other.
But we also had fun. We laughed a lot. We got along well. And the sex…
Well, let’s not go there.
I enjoy him. And that’s the part that annoys the hell out of me. Because he’s a Martinelli, and my father told me when I was thirteen that anyone with that name was off-limits.
Nothing has changed in that regard.
So, I’ll do as my father asked and keep an eye on Carmine, but I’ll also keep my distance.
For my fucking sanity.
Because I’m going to be the next boss. My brother doesn’t have the chops—he’s too selfish, too immature.
I can’t stand him.
I’m the one who studied at my father’s knee since I was a child. I’m the one who pays attention and does as she’s told.
And I’m often overlooked because I’m a woman.
But that won’t stop me.
I’ll do my job here and continue proving to my father that I’m the one who should step up after he’s gone.
The hotel just wasn’t cutting it. Too many people were in and out. Too many eyes. I know that Carmine has eyes on me, but I was making it too easy on him.
So, I checked out two days ago and secured a vacation rental by owner, a VRBO, instead. I used my father’s assistant to make the reservation, so my name’s nowhere on the application.
I like being anonymous. Carmine wasn’t wrong. My family owns the condo I live in just outside of Atlanta, and my name isn’t on that one either. I don’t want anyone to trace me back to any holdings. I want to be mysterious.
It’s hard for the bad guys to find you if they can’t figure out where you live.
Not that they didn’t find me anyway, I muse, rubbing a hand over the rib that still sometimes gives me fits.
I haven’t heard anything on the drug thing for days. I’m basically just sitting in Seattle, twiddling my thumbs. I could do this from anywhere.
But Papa wants me here.
I blow out a breath and shut my laptop. I’ve been calling in favors and making calls, and I’m going nowhere fast. It’s like I’m two inches away from getting the information I need, but then it gets tugged just out of my reach.
It doesn’t help that I don’t know exactly what I’m looking for. The simple news of a new drug doesn’t give me much to go on. That happens every day in every city, and my family isn’t into the drug-dealing scene.
Maybe our fathers have us on a wild goose chase, just to see if they can pull the strings and have us follow along like good little puppets.
I wouldn’t put it past them.
I need some air, so I slide my feet into my running shoes, grab my windbreaker, and set off on a jog.
This little neighborhood near the water is beautiful. Full of older homes, it’s clearly an established neighborhood with low crime and little drama.
I would generally think of it as boring.
My pace is steady as I climb the first hill. Seattle is nothing if not hilly, but it makes for a good workout so I’m not complaining.
I just hit my stride when something sails over my head, and someone lifts me from behind.
“Let go of me, you asshole!” I’m kicking and flailing about, but it’s no use. I can’t see who grabbed me.
So I go limp. Deadweight.
The man holding me grunts with the effort it takes to hold me, but throws me onto a seat of a vehicle. And then we’re moving.
“Who the fuck are you?” I demand.
No one replies.
I know there are at least two of them. The one who grabbed me and the other who’s driving.
Fuck, this isn’t good.
They could kill me and dump me. My father would rain hell down on them, but they could still do it.
The vehicle—van?—parks, and I’m jerked out and taken down what feels like a series of hallways. Finally, they dump me onto a chair and tie my hands behind my back.
“What the fuck?” I ask—and am punched in the jaw.
I see stars. My mouth throbs.
“You’re asking a lot of questions.”
I frantically search my brain to place the voice. Have I heard it before? It doesn’t sound familiar.
“And that pisses you off,” I guess.
Someone punches me again, in the left eye this time.
“We’re going to teach you to keep your questions to yourself, bitch.”
The beating is ruthless. By the time they dump me on some random sidewalk in downtown Seattle, I’m bloody, bruised, and quite sure my right shoulder is dislocated.
It’s hard to breathe.
I pull the bag off my head but can’t see out of my left eye. What I can see is clouded and red because of the blood in my right eye.
Christ, I don’t know what to do.
I can’t go to the hospital. And I’m never stepping foot in that VRBO again.
How did they find me?
I’m going to pass out, and I don’t want to do that here, so I stumble to my feet and look around. I’m in an industrial area. People walk about, but they don’t look my way.
It’s as if women are dumped, bloody and broken, every fucking day.
Whoever grabbed me didn’t take my phone, so I pull it out of the sleeve in my leggings and punch in the address for the condo that Carmine and I lived in for several months. I know his family owns the building, and no one lives in the penthouse full time.
I’ll crash there until I figure out what to do.
According to my cell, I’m only a couple of blocks away. I hobble toward the building, having to stop and lean on the concrete to catch my breath a few times.
Did they break another goddamn rib?
It takes five times longer than it should to reach Carmine’s building. I’m ecstatic to discover that my codes still work on the door and the private elevator that leads up to the penthouse.
When the apartment doors open, I step in and lean against the wall as I listen for any movement inside.