I am more than certain Arlo was following her as well, two insufferable pricks who apparently have nothing better to do than trail us through town.
Still, I would almost prefer knowing for certain that it was Markev. I don’t appreciate being followed, but if I must endure it, I would rather it be at the hands of that particular obsessive psychopath.
Another thought presses in regardless.
What if it wasn’t him at all?
What if the person who attacked me is still watching, waiting for the right moment to strike again?
Adriano is looking into it to no avail.
One Markev has already taken care of the bodies, and I see little point in asking him to recover anything for identification, knowing Markev, whatever evidence remained is likely ash by now.
Nevertheless, the attack has left me unsettled, more so because I don’t know who they were, what they wanted, or whether they intend to act again.
So my men continue hunting without results, and I carry on with my life as though that uncertainty is not sitting just beneath my skin.
As I keep reminding myself, this last year was meant to be about freedom, before I take over from my father.
This was supposed to be just art, friendships, which, after what Adelaide did, have narrowed almost entirely to my sister… and Death.
Now, I find myself burdened with yet another concern, avoiding being killed.
I pull on a cream Chanel jumper, slide into a pair of jeans, my UGG boots, a jacket, and loop a scarf around my neck.
I make coffee quickly and pour it into a to go cup.
My setup is nowhere near as excessive as my sister’s—hers is imported from Italy, complete with a full barista arrangement—but it serves its purpose.
I sling my bag over my shoulder and close the door, making certain the key card is on me.
The lift doors are already sliding shut, so I hurry to press the button, and they part again.
Adelaide is inside, typing furiously on her phone. She looks up, meets my eyes, and offers a thin, contemptuous smile.
I roll my eyes. The audacity of that woman appears to be boundless.
She steps aside to let me enter. “Go on in,” she says sweetly. “Don’t worry… I’m not going to hurt you.”
I step inside and press the button for the lower floor, ignoring the dull pang in my chest at the sight of my once friend.
Sheis the one who destroyed us, and if anyone deserves to feel the weight of that, it’s her.
What stings more, however, is not only that she had her sniper trained on my sister, but that sheknows.She is the only person who does. Not even my sister knows—and still, she forced me into it.
The doors open, and I step out.
“You used to be more fun,” she says behind me, her tone conversational. “Volatile. Now you’re just… boring.”
I smirk as I glance back at her.
“Sometimes,” I reply evenly, “being the bigger person means having the intellect to know when to remain silent and allow the foolish to speak for themselves.”
She narrows her eyes, then laughs briefly. “Between the two of us, intellect is not a word I would associate with you.”
I stop and turn back to her, taking a step closer.
“Look at us,” I say. “You and me. Look at Ophelia. Piper. And don’t even get me started on Eleanor. When was she last seen?” A tight smile forms. “That’s right, at that damned party.”
