Tattered obsession tatte.., p.19
Tattered Obsession (Tattered Obsession Series), page 19
Was that a threat or a promise?
Chapter Twenty-Three
Lucas
Lucas Emmerico sits in the executive offices of the Emmerico-Dalton syndicate’s biggest holding company, completely enraged. He’s at his brother’s desk, in his brother’s office, soon to assume his brother’s role and his brother’s responsibilities. He’s heard it all his life, the importance of getting his hands dirty, of not letting an opportunity pass him by. He’s always prided himself on his ambition and determination, his willingness to do whatever it takes to bring down his enemies and solidify his claim to power—even when that means being willing to go to the lowest depths, depths no one else in his fucking family would deign to stoop to, and slingshot his way to the top one inch at a time.
And now, just as it all seems to be coming to fruition, after all the blood he’s spilled for his damned father and his useless brother and this stupid fucking alliance… Now his wife decides to up and run off, up to her eyeballs in some subhuman low-ranking gang shit, and he doesn’t know what the fuck he’s going to do about it. It’s bad enough she jumped in the sack with his brother, of all people—the one person who was supposed to keep her in line while he was off taking care of the Stryker brothers. It’s bad enough that he had to fight his own flesh and blood over what was rightfully his, and now, within days of returning to his house, his bed, she escapes—and he’ll be damned if this doesn’t have Theo written all over it.
That’s why Lucas is fuming as he sips at a glass of scotch and stares at the television. All the major news channels have been running features on his runaway bride. It’s a hell of a story, he’ll give them that much: the daughter of a wealthy London socialite disappears from the hospital after a mysterious shooting, without leaving a trace? They might as well have ripped it from a crime novel. And all the fucking lemmings out there trying to help with the search, posting pictures of her on every fucking social media platform, begging for information… he almost feels sorry for the stupid bastards. Almost.
Almost a week later, though, and they’ve got nothing. No leads, no sightings, nothing. Now there’s talk of a murder investigation—a fucking murder investigation—and that spells trouble.
It wasn’t supposed to have taken this long. The made men, the ones his bastard brother didn’t poach, are getting restless. And that’s not even getting started on Andrew Dalton himself.
Lucas snorts, swigs back the rest of his scotch, and glances down at his phone. It’s his father calling, because of fucking course it is, probably wringing his hands about the alliance and how the gangs aren’t on good terms like they used to be—like Lucas doesn’t fucking know. He contemplates answering, and then decides to let it go to voicemail. He has to be careful now—his web of lies is tenuous at best, and the last thing he needs is his father questioning his story. He’ll just have to sit back and wait for the day he can take over and tell his father where to shove it.
He brings his glass down with a loud clack, rising from his chair and making his way to the windows. His black eyes, burning with hatred, scan the London skyline, as if by looking hard enough, he can figure out where she’s gotten off to. He’ll get her back, oh yes. It may take time, and it may take resources, but those are two things he’s got plenty of. And when his little wife is returned to him, begging for his forgiveness, he’ll make sure she never, ever forgets her place again.
“Where are you hiding, Vivian?” he asks, his tone dark and cold in the silence of the office.
As if in response, there’s a knock at the door, and he’s feeling twitchy enough already that the sound makes him jump. “What?” he demands, turning around. How many times has he told his father’s men to get off his ass? It shouldn’t matter how he takes care of Theo; all that should matter is that the son of a bitch is out of their lives—for good this time.
But instead of announcing their presence, the person on the other side strides into the room, bold as can be, provoking a fresh surge of indignation. He’s ready to tell her to leave, but he pauses with his mouth open to speak. There’s something about the woman who’s just walked in that’s vaguely familiar. She’s dressed in a conservative, tailored suit, her shiny dark hair pulled off her face, and you could spot the calculating look in her eyes a mile away.
“Who are you?” Lucas demands. “I don’t remember giving anyone an appointment today.”
“You didn’t have to,” the woman replies, speaking in a musical accent. “I’m not here on business.”
Lucas snorts. “Believe me, lady, I don’t have time for—”
“Your wife,” the woman interrupts, crossing her arms as she stops in front of him. “Vivian Emmerico, isn’t it?”
Lucas frowns. “What about her?”
“You’re looking for her, yes?”
“Me and everyone else in this fucking city,” Lucas snaps. “What’s it to you?”
“Let’s just say... I have reason to want to know where she is as well.” The woman crosses the room, extending a manicured hand. “Sienna DiMarco.”
Lucas raises his eyebrows, but he doesn’t shake her hand. So that’s why she seemed familiar. “Of the DiMarco family?”
“The one and only,” the woman replies.
“Give me one reason I shouldn’t shoot you right here,” Lucas says. “Your father pulled out of the syndicate the minute my brother—”
“I’m not here on family business,” the woman, Sienna, interrupts, her expression going cold. “What my father did or didn’t do to your operations is of no concern.”
“Then why are you here?”
The woman sighs. “Let’s not beat around the bush, Mr. Emmerico. We both have reason to believe your wife has been in contact with your brother and his network. That network happens to include my boyfriend.”
Lucas snorts. “I’m not interested in other people’s drama.”
“Not even if it pertains to your wife?” The woman raises her eyebrow. “Is it beyond reason to wonder what, exactly, her relationship is to your brother? The rumor mill has it he was obsessed. Deranged. But I know Theo Emmerico, and I know when there’s more to the story.”
“What are you saying?” Lucas demands, his hands curling into fists at his sides.
“I’m saying,” Sienna replies, “that this little minx of yours may just have caused you the biggest insult a man can suffer: to be cheated on. And if she’s being protected by Theo’s operation, then my boyfriend, his best friend... may be susceptible to her charms as well.”
“And just who might that be?”
“Tristan Archer, if you need to know,” Sienna replies, examining her fingernails.
“Yeah,” Lucas says, nodding. “I think I’ve met him once or twice. He did a lot of the books for my brother.” He gives her a derisive smirk. “It doesn’t sound like you’ve got a lot of faith in him.”
“My faith in him isn’t the problem,” Sienna snaps. “His proximity to your wife certainly is. I’m sure you can understand wanting to protect what’s yours.”
“Cut to the chase, then.” Lucas takes a step toward her, towering over her as he stares her down. “Why are you wasting my time with this?”
“Because I may be able to help you find your missing wife.” Sienna cocks her head to the side.
Lucas snorts. “And just how do you plan to do that?”
“Well, for one thing...” She grins. “I happen to have seen your brother just recently. Four days ago, as a matter of fact, at an estate belonging to Tristan’s family.”
Lucas pales, icy fury burning inside him. “Was my wife there?”
“No,” Sienna replies. “But I’m willing to bet she was there before.” She gives him a meaningful look. “And if I’m right, then she’s not far from where they’re holed up. I would be more than happy to follow this hunch... for the right incentive.”
“You mean, other than me not blowing your head off for trespassing on Emmerico territory?”
Sienna doesn’t laugh. “What I’m offering is this, Mr. Emmerico: I follow up on this lead, at no expense to you. You’re not the only one around here with resources, after all.”
“And you really think you can do that?” Lucas demands. “You think I haven’t had my men combing this fucking city, turning the countryside upside down to find her?”
“Your men,” Sienna corrects. “Not mine. And as... difficult as things have been between me and Tristan, I have one thing at my disposal that you don’t.”
“Which is?”
“Connection to your brother.” Her half-smile grows. “My father is an idiot, but he’s a useful idiot. As long as he stays on Theo’s good side, I’ll have access to his information. And I know he won’t want to lose my father’s backing, not if he wants to keep this burgeoning operation of his from going under before it gets off the ground. That means keeping our family in the loop... including me.”
Lucas has to hand it to her: she has a manipulator’s mind. If he weren’t a married man, he might have even been willing to go a round or two with her—she’s got the body for it, after all—but the strategist in him still has questions. “And you think they’ll let you hang around?” Lucas asks. “You make it sound like you and your boyfriend aren’t on the best terms right now.”
“Yes, well, I’m not the type to let an obstacle like that stop me,” the woman replies. “And you know as well as I do that sometimes all it takes is a little nudge in the right direction. So,” she says, squaring her shoulders, “that’s what’s on the table. If I’m wrong, we go our separate ways, and you’re left with more actionable information you can use, should your brother decide to try his luck and venture back into London.”
“And if you’re right?” Lucas asks, intrigued despite himself. He doesn’t do deals—anyone else besides him having leverage over the situation makes him uncomfortable—but if there’s a chance here, however small, to find his wife and put her back where she belongs...
“If I’m right,” Sienna replies, “all I ask is that you... how do I say this? Make sure she can’t create more problems for me. My relationship with Tristan is... complicated enough.”
Lucas stares at her for a long moment, and then bursts out laughing. “Damn,” he says, “you’re a piece of work, DiMarco.”
Sienna rolls her eyes. “Tell me that when I’ve brought you your wife. Believe me, Mr. Emmerico, this kind of a deal isn’t going to come up again.”
Lucas eyes her for a long moment, the gears turning in his head. He knows there’s no guarantee she’ll be able to track Vivian down, and he’s not naive enough to think otherwise. But he also knows he would be a fool to say no, not with the way things have gone so far. Not if it means reining Andrew Dalton’s precious daughter back in and solidifying his hold on this city once and for all.
So when Sienna holds out her hand again, this time, he shakes it. “All right, DiMarco,” he says. “You’ve got a deal.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
I’m breathing hard, wiping the sweat off my brow as I read the message from Callie on my phone screen.
We sold a sculpture to a guy named Preston Stone for 100k today. It’s not worth half that much, and Sterling knows it.
Another message rolls in moments later: There was also a “Patrick’” who put down a payment for a genuine Hirst. Said something about “family obligations.” Thought you’d want to know about it.
I press my lips together. Interesting.
“Vivi?” Liam calls from the other side of the room. “You good?”
“Yeah!” I call back, typing out a quick reply to Callie before swigging back some water and returning to him. It’s nearly midnight, and the sporting center closed four hours ago, but that’s not about to stop someone with the connections he has, and I’m glad for it. Coming in to train this late at night is the only way I can avoid being spotted, and it’s not like you can just set up a shooting range-slash-combat facility in the middle of an old country mansion. (To be honest, I’m still struggling to wrap my head around this whole “training” thing, but I’m not going to complain. This is what I signed up for, and there’s no backing out now.)
Liam grins as I come to a stop in front of him. “You take the shortest water breaks on the planet, Vivi.”
“What can I say?” I reply, unable to resist a smile of my own. “I guess I’m just a glutton for punishment.”
“How are you feeling?” he asks, his green eyes roaming over my body, and I tell myself he’s just checking me for injuries. “You good to keep going?”
“Hell yeah,” I reply, smiling. “I think I’m getting the hang of this now.”
“Atta girl,” he says, stretching his long arm across his chest and rolling his shoulders in preparation. He’s dressed in a tight t-shirt that clings to his muscular frame, his sandy hair mussed from the drills we’ve been running, sweat glistening on his skin in the overhead lights. Something stirs in me at the sight, and I do my best to shove it away, but it’s not easy. Chalk it up to the stress, or to the rush of training, or the fact that I’ve spent the past week immersed in combat training, leadership lessons, and more business lectures than a freshman MBA student.
I drop into my stance, my mind already running through all the things he told me: weapon disarms, kicks, punches, grabs, holds... I’m rotten at it, but they say if you train long enough, you get the hang of it eventually. I just hope “eventually” for me is in time for whatever Lucas throws at me.
“Good,” Liam says, nodding as he comes over to correct my form. “Keep your stance wide, yeah?” he adds, placing one hand on my thigh to guide my leg farther out and another on my waist to demonstrate the proper rotation. I jump a little at the electric feeling of his touch on my body, at the strange and dangerous intimacy of it. I have to chastise myself for the images that spin through my head with his body so close to mine, so in control, the same way it was when Sienna showed up at the safe house. Stop it, I remind myself. Don’t go there. He’s Theo’s best friend, and he’s just doing this to help you.
“Power comes from the hips,” Liam says. “Not the arms. Don’t forget to pivot, and don’t lock your knees. We’re working on keeping your center of gravity low, remember?”
“Right,” I reply, nodding, repeating the steps in my head and trying not to think about how easily he could pull me against him, how charged the sensations are that are coursing through my skin.
“I’m going to step out of range,” Liam says. “I want you to throw a punch at me when I do it. Don’t worry if you miss. Just focus on the principles.”
I nod my agreement, and as his hands leave my body, I force myself to slip back into the student role. “All right,” I mutter, as much to myself as to him. “Let’s do this.”
“Eager,” Liam says, and grins. “I like that.”
His voice is playful, and I can’t help ducking my head at the way his eyes dance—almost like he means it.
“Thanks,” I say, trying to pull myself together. “I try.” I swing, my fists flying straight, and even though my movements are clumsy, muscle memory is starting to kick in. Liam easily catches both, but I don’t stumble off balance the way I have been all week... and I don’t miss the nod of approval he gives me when my eyes are on my hand placement. It fills me with a strange sense of pride, one that goes all the way to the pit of my stomach.
“Good,” he says. “Do it again.”
I do, and this time I manage to catch him with a glancing blow to the shoulder. I stumble, but Liam catches me easily. He holds me against him a moment longer than he has to, his arms wrapped around me, my face up against his shoulder.
The thought comes to me out of the blue, against all common sense: It would be so easy to turn my head and kiss him—
My whole body seizes up with tension as I push the idea away forcefully, trying to ignore the way Liam’s body feels against mine. What the hell is wrong with me?
“Easy,” he says, his voice soft. “Don’t tense up. It makes it harder to move.”
“Sorry,” I mutter, shrugging my shoulders and stepping out of his arms. The effort it takes to pull my body out of his grasp is a little embarrassing—he’s barely touching me and I’ve somehow lost the ability to control myself.
“For what?” he asks, and grins, putting me at ease like it’s second nature.
We slip back into the familiarity of our sparring sessions, spending another half hour drilling the basic strikes, blocks and punches. It’ll be a damned miracle if I’m actually able to apply any of this in a real fight, but just the act of doing something, rather than sitting on my ass and waiting for the bad guys to show up, feels good.
I’m still amazed by the way Liam moves. He’s as graceful as a dancer, but with the ferocity of a predator. Even when we’re just going through the motions, he never seems to do the same thing twice.
“Where’d you learn all this?” I ask, breathless, as I close the space with an (admittedly shaky) uppercut.
“Learn what, darling?” Liam replies, easily deflecting my blow. The movement is swift and practiced, but his hand is surprisingly gentle where it pushes my arm out of the way.
“All of this,” I say, gesturing at the air around us. “The fighting.”
“The fighting?” he says, his eyes shining with amusement, and there’s a streak of color in his cheeks. “I’ve been fighting all my life, Vivi. First with my brothers, later with men who wanted to kill me. You learn to fight, or you die.”
“Oh,” I say, feeling thoroughly inadequate.
“Here,” Liam says, and steps closer to help me into a new stance, settling his hand on my shoulder. “Put your hands here—just like that. Keep your stance wide. Harder to knock you over that way. Try again.”
He holds up his hands and I drive forward quickly, my muscles burning. It’s been a long time since I’ve had to move this fast. This time I’m able to tag his chest, and the grin he gives me in response is positively heart-melting.
