THIRTY
HOLT
Once I reach my yacht, I make my way down the pier. Since I haven’t come down here as much as I’d hoped, it’s parked in the farthest spot away at the end. My hands are shaking in anticipation, craving to touch Selene.
It’s amazing how I can touch her, sleep next to her, yet still ache for her the way I did before we started dating.
The cold, early winter breeze nips at my skin. A white cloud puffs out from my cold lips, reminding me this is the entirely wrong season to be here. When I grow closer to the yacht, all the lights are off apart from the one on the top floor, toward the bow.
“Selene?” I shout, heading straight for the small stairway, just inside the deck.
I only hired a few staff to run and manage the yacht during the summer months, so I’m not surprised to find it empty, aside from Selene being here.
But I can’t help how the hairs on the back of my neck suddenly stand up the closer I get to the upper floor. It could be the colder temperatures coming up off the water, the cold settling in to my bones, or it could be the eerie, chilling silence.
“Wallflower?” I call out again once I reach the second deck. “You up here?”
I slowly walk down the side walkway, fully expecting to find Selene sitting inside the enclosed dining area.
Instead, when I round the corner to the back lounge area, I find her standing on the far side of the bench. Her bare feet sink into the cotton padding, and her dress clings to her entire body as the wind blows. My eyes travel up her body as I take in what the fuck I’m seeing.
The gravity of what’s happening hits me with the clicking sound of a pistol and my name falling from Selene’s mouth.
“Holt,” she cries quietly, a tear slipping down her cheek.
Her hands are gently layered over her stomach, her eyes spread wide in panic.
My gaze moves to the man standing beside her, tightly gripping her arm with one hand while the other holds a pistol to the side of her head.
“Get the fuck away from her.” I take several steps closer without thinking, but I’m stopped when two other men surround me, emerging from their guard positions. When they step closer, closing around me, I recognize the one on my right. Only this time, he isn’t wearing a mask. But the X-shaped tattoo on his chin is clear.
He was the one I caught Rome talking to the night of the ball.
I send the man holding Selene a fiery glare. “Who the fuck are you?”
The question has barely left my mouth before I realize the answer. Sort of.
The clover and dagger tattoo on the back of the man’s pistol-wielding hand is unmistakable.
“Name is Rhys O’Connell,” he utters in a distinctive, unmistakable Irish accent. His eyes are dark and shadowed bythe night sky, but something tells me even under the brightest light, this man has no soul.
I swallow, glancing between the three men, unsure of what to say or do. Between the gun pointed at Selene’s head and how close she is to the edge of the yacht, I don’t want to do anything that might give them reason to act. There are too many risks.
“Nice to meet you, Mr. O’Connell,” Rhys mocks. “I’m Holt Capuleti, the fucker who’s been tracking you down for years.” He scoffs and shakes his head. “Italians always forget their manners.”
He gives me a devilish smirk, and the silence that follows makes me want to fucking vomit.
My nostrils flare, and white-hot anger flows through my veins.
“You’re the one who killed my mother,” I state, the words falling from my mouth with a bitter taste I can’t get rid of.
Rhys clicks his tongue in disapproval. “That’s not exactly the proper way to start this conversation, now, is it? Like I said:manners.” He frowns and tosses his head to the side. “Now, let’s start with the fact you maybe should have kept your security detail following this little viper for a little while longer. I did wonder, when my men told me they were no longer an obstacle, why you’d done it. What was your reason?”
I clamp my mouth shut and bite my cheek until the metallic taste hits my tongue. Pressure builds behind my eyes, and I look at Selene.
I keep my focus on her, even when Rhys continues.
“Did you know your boyfriend was conducting surveillance on you?” he asks Selene. “Sweet, really. But it would have been more of a grand, romantic gesture had he been consistent, no? Considering all the media attention you’ve been getting lately.”
