We don’t have to worry about the cops here, but I don’t think we have anyone in forensics specifically. This could prove beneficial indeed.
We own a good portion of the police and the justice department in Texas. The Venatti name will never be convicted in a Texas courtroom. The only reason any of us has ever even spent a night in jail was because of Nonno.
Me, Naz, and Mauro all got shitfaced drunk when we were teenagers out at a bonfire on Tommy Newson’s farm. Unfortunately, Tommy’s neighbor saw the flames and knew his parents weren’t home, so naturally he called 9-1-1. We were all picked up for underage drunken disorderly charges, and since most of them were on Nonno’s payroll, they called him to determine our punishment. We may not go to prison, but we will also never go unpunished if we step out of line and call the wrong kind of attention to the family.
We thought with our last name and knowing who our grandfather was, the cops would send us home, but Nonno wanted to teach us a lesson about embarrassing him in public.
“The Venatti name is one that is both feared and respected byall. If you cannot respect it, then you will fear it.” Those were Nonno’s words to us before granting permission for a couple of cops to put us through hell.
We slept in a cell overnight. The next morning, we were stripped down to our underwear and sprayed with a freezing cold fire hose to wake us up. Then they ran us for miles. We were all throwing up and hungover as fuck, but Nonno made his point. By evening we were all extremely apologetic and vowed never to embarrass our family name again. And we never did. At least not anywhere we could get caught.
I spent all night digging to find everything I could on Althea Drakos.
Her address.
Her rituals.
Her credit card purchases.
Her favorite coffee spot. Which, apparently, she visits almost every morning.
I access the security cameras at A Cuppa Comfort and sift through their footage. I don’t expect to find much, maybe her favorite food or beverage. Perhaps a glimpse of her usual apparel, since I’m not convinced the power suit was a normal day’s outfit for her. She seems more like the type to wear a cute shirt and form-fitting jeans than power suits.
I found footage of Althea three days in a row. That’s as far back as I allow myself to go.
At almost the exact same time each day, she goes in, ordering the same espresso and Danish. I watch as she tears each small bite with her hands, then places them in her mouth one at a time, licking the sticky remnants off her fingers after each one. My cock comes to life as images of her licking the sticky remnants of herself off me come to mind. It’s an odd feeling, finding myself envious of someone’s fingers. I want her lips wrapped around me, licking and sucking while she moans her pleasure the same way she is with her food.
Jesus, you’re a goner.
I realize that, not for the first time, I don’t see her security guards in the vicinity. It was the same when she visited The Mansion.
Continuing my search through the café’s footage, I’m looking for any signs of her security detail and finally find one—Liam, quietly tucked away on the opposite side of the café. I recognize him from the club.
The other, Andrew, is outside leaning against a car on his phone.
I learned the first time she came to The Mansion that she only had the two guards. Liam is a member, and the Dom to one of our bartenders, Chloe. I don’t busy myself with other people’s affairs at the club, unless I’m helping one or both get off. But since Chloe and Althea seem close, I’ll be paying closer attention to Chloe and her Dom.
The other guard, Andrew, never came inside The Mansion. He followed Althea to the front entrance until she was inside the building and the valet took her car. According to the tail I put on him, he drove a few miles down the road to the all-night diner and waited until Althea’s car came past. Then, he followed her home from there.
When I back up the cameras on the street from the café to her apartment, I catch Althea walking to the caféby herself.No guard. No escort. She has a small wallet hanging from a chord on her wrist, and that’s it. There’s no way she could hide a weapon in that thing.
Are they insane? Does her father know they take her safety so lightly?
My pulse is pounding so hard in my head, I can hear my heartbeat in my ears.
My own sister has at least ten men surrounding her at all times. Two men at a minimum are within reach of her in case she needs to be carted away in an emergency. How the hell is thesole heir to the Drakos empire allowed to walk alone through the streets of downtown Dallas?
It’s not fucking safe!
My coffee cup goes flying off the edge of the desk and onto the floor with the swoop of my hand. I know I’m being irrational, but it doesn’t make any sense. Someone as beautiful, as unsuspecting, as important as Althea Drakos should not be allowed to mosey down the streets on her own accord without fucking protection.
“Whoa, boss! You okay in here?” Stavros, the floor manager, asks, barely peeking his head in my office door.
“Yeah,” I reply, dragging both hands through my hair, tipping my chin at the now empty coffee mug. “Spilled my coffee.”
Stavros doesn’t need to be told, he just jumps into action, picking the cup up off the floor and calling someone to come clean the spilled liquid off my floor.
“Need anything else?” he asks, waiting with the mug between his hands for more orders. He can’t change how Althea’s careless employees take her safety for granted.
