Leticia D’Medici:
I’m sorry we couldn’t talk. I love you. I miss you so much. Dad is being Dad. It’s like the truce means nothing and you’re dead to him. He’s said terrible things, and I didn’t want to cause a scene. God I hope you’re getting these messages.
You’re my only fucking friend, and it’s not fair that they’re taking you away from me. I hope the Cavanaghs let us stay in contact. If it’s up to Dad and Dad only, then our goodbye was something blue in your bedroom this morning.
My wolf’sattention shifts to Leticia, and he lets out a low growl.
It feels protective in the way he interprets her words and latches on to her.
Something gnaws on my heart, my chest aching at her words. So many of those feelings I know and understand. Worrying about being disowned, what life would be like if your family didn’t love you, and not wanting to be the talk of gossip is such a heavy burden to carry.
“Let me know you’re okay, Leticia.” But I have a feeling there won’t be a response.
A text message doesn’t come.
I wait, staring at it for longer than I should before setting it aside and going back to work.
I’ve been tossingand turning all night.
Leticia never messaged me again. Never messagedAntonellaagain.
I keep my eyes closed and try to focus on the soft whir of the cooling fan on the smallest server I keep here at the house. It sounds perfect, running like it should, a little technological hum.
Normally, two minutes of focusing on the brownish-white noise and I’m headed off to sleep, but I can’t. Not with my brain this wired.
Defeat isn’t something I accept regularly, but after three hours and not sleeping, I get out of bed and go to my desk.
The problem is the look in Leticia’s eyes in that photo. It’s in the words of those text messages. It’s because I can’t do anything about it. Maybe in the future, but not just yet. For now...
Be the hunter,my wolf says the same time I plop my ass in my computer chair.
The leather is cool against my bare back, sending a shiver up my spine and adding to the thrill of the chase.Find her.
Images of dark alleyways, stalking a blonde-haired woman, come into my mind, and I’m quick to push them away. I refuse to stalk someone that way.
It’s a lot of proprietary software.
It’s a lot of keystrokes.
It’s more than a lot of luck.
The tracking shows that the D’Medicis took Antonella’s phone back with them into their house. I assumed they would since the information we gleaned showed that Antonella moved in with her uncle, Gregorio, the head of the D’Medici Mafia, when she returned from New York.
The D’Medicis didn’t turn Antonella’s phone off when they took it back to their penthouse. So through the clone, I have access to everything.
I take it back. The D’Medicis are bad at crime.
Immediately I gain access to their home network.
There isn’t even a firewall protecting shit. Their internet password is their last name with the year Berto was born.
Their home security system is . . .
I scrub my hand down my face and squint at the screen to be sure I’m reading this right.Shit.Maybewe’rebad at crime.
Allthis fuckin’ time, one of our conglomerate’s baby corporations has been doing the security of the D’Medici penthouse?
Then again, who would approve the hours for me to go through every single client record of every single baby corporation we own? An audit that size would mean way too much manpower to convert all the systems to talk to each other. Plus, the contract process to look over and make sure we even had the legal authority to do so.
