Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 132498 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132498 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
Lorenzo’s mouth quirks. “I’d like to point out I’ve never set anything on fire at a charity dinner.”
“Not physically,” I quip. “But you would have loved to.”
“I would have.”
Rafe shrugs. “You still have time. I believe in you.”
I can’t help but laugh.
“Victoria . . .” Lorenzo starts, making me shake my head, trying to drag my brain back into the room. “He . . . he kept proposing.” I swallow. “Claimed I was his.”
Lorenzo’s eyes darken.
“And he liked,” I continue, voice tightening, “that I didn’t have any real say in my own life.”
Lorenzo doesn’t move.
But the air around him changes. It tightens. If Grant were here, he’d no doubt be dead.
I look down at my lap, fingers twisting together. “He has that cottage. But he also has more places. Not all in his name, though.”
Lorenzo tilts his head. “How do you know?”
I lift my shoulders in a slight shrug that feels pathetic. “He was talking about it to someone, and I overheard. Something to do with not paying taxes.”
Lorenzo’s gaze never leaves my face. “What else?”
I think.
Hard.
The past few years blur together like a montage of dinners I never wanted to be at.
“He fishes,” I say suddenly.
Lorenzo’s brow lifts. “Fishes.”
“Yes.” I nod, more certain now. “He . . . he loves to fish. He used to talk about it like it was some spiritual thing. Like catching and releasing a fish made him a better person.”
Lorenzo’s brows knit together. “You think he has a lake house?”
“Yeah, I do. Don’t know where it would be, but it makes sense.”
Lorenzo slowly taps his fingers against the desk. “Men like him collect properties. A cottage. A lake house. Maybe something farther away for when he wants to disappear.”
My spine prickles. “Wait. Yeah, he mentioned a lake house once. He said it was quiet. That no one bothered him there.”
Lorenzo’s eyes flick to his men.
“Pull property holdings,” Lorenzo orders, voice turning crisp. “Anything tied to Grant, his family, his known associates. Shell corps. Trusts. Anything.”
The guy with the mustache nods once, already turning to the keyboard. Fingers flying.
My stomach twists as I watch.
The way Lorenzo works and takes charge is impressive. It used to terrify me, but now that I’m not his target, I can’t help but be in awe of him. He’s like a king sitting on his cruel throne.
It should scare me. But instead, it makes me feel . . . safe.
Lorenzo’s gaze returns to me. “Anything else he said about the lake house?”
I close my eyes, searching memories in my brain.
“Something about . . . cedar,” I mumble. “He said the air smelled like cedar. And that there was a dock.” My eyes snap open. “And he . . . he joked once that his neighbors were all ‘too rich to ask questions.’”
Lorenzo’s mouth curves, humorless. “That narrows it down to every lake within three states.”
“Helpful,” I chide.
He leans forward, voice gentler. “Keep going.”
My throat tightens at the softness. I hate that it affects me.
“He used to talk about some mom-and-pop bait shop,” I say suddenly.
Lorenzo’s eyes sharpen. “This is good. It would have to be close to the house for him to frequent it. This gives us a lot to go on.”
“I have a list,” the security guard says, turning his laptop monitor slightly so Lorenzo can see. “Most of it is normal—condos, an office suite, the cottage was under a trust. But . . .” His finger taps a line. “There’s a property holding under a shell corp registered out of Delaware. It’s connected to Grant’s mother’s maiden name.”
My pulse spikes. “That could be it.”
Lorenzo’s chair scrapes back slightly as he stands. “Where?”
The guard reads off an address.
Rafe pushes off the wall, already moving. “I’ll get the cars.”
Lorenzo’s hand lifts, stopping him with the gesture. “Not yet.”
Rafe pauses, brows lifting. “What?”
Lorenzo turns toward me.
He steps closer, and the air changes. Softens. “Stay here.” His voice is soft and pleading, a sound I never thought I’d hear out of Lorenzo’s mouth.
My spine stiffens automatically. “I’m not—”
His hand cups the side of my face, thumb brushing under my eye.
The touch is gentle.
“You’re not going with us,” he responds, voice tight.
My throat tightens. “Why?”
“Because if you see what I do to him, you’ll never sleep again.”
I swallow hard. “I don’t sleep now.”
His mouth twitches, almost sad. “You will.”
My heart throbs against my ribs.
Rafe clears his throat loudly. “Not to interrupt the domestic moment, but we’re on a clock.”
Lorenzo doesn’t look away from me. “You’ll stay put.”
I roll my eyes because if I don’t, I’ll cry. “You love telling me to stay put.”
His gaze darkens with amusement. “It’s one of my love languages.”
I glare. “You’re disgusting.”
“And you married me.” He leans in, placing his lips on mine.
He kisses me.
Deep.
When he pulls back, his forehead rests against mine for a beat. “I love you.”
“I love you too.” I breathe in, shaky. “Be careful.”