“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I think you do.” His eyes grow sharp, that knowing look donning across his face once more. “See. Here’s the thing. If you’d told the boss who you really are — who your father really is— maybe you’d already have realized where you fit in all of this. That walking away isn’t the solution to this particular problem.”
I stop in my tracks, and I can feel all the blood drain from my face.He knows…of course, he knows. He’s been dropping hints for days. I gulp involuntarily. Unable to look at him, the urge to break into a dead cold run trickles through every nerve in my body.
He turns to face me, towering over me as he looks down on me. “I’m not going to tell him. That needs to come from you. But you need to do it soon before this entire situation gets completely out of control.”
Surprised, I’m able to move through the fear to look up at him, searching his face for any idea of why someone so loyal to Basili would keep such a secret. “And why do you care?”
“Because I like you; you’re good for Emmanuel. And despite being a stubborn pain in the ass, you might actually be good for the boss, too. If you can get the hell out of your own way long enough to be honest with him like he deserves.”
He starts walking again, leading me back to the house. Pausing by the doorway as he motions me inside. “Oh, and Chloe? The boss looked like someone killed his dog after you left his office. Whatever you think about how he feels about you, whatever conclusions you’ve jumped to based on what you heard, I promise that you don’t have all the facts. And neither does he.”
All the way back to my room, I digest everything he’d said. What if he’s right and telling Basili the truth, that I’m Delan Tao’s daughter, changes everything? But how can I tell him?
But telling him isn’t what I’m dreading. How he will react is. Because I’m trapped. Trapped between the truth I’m so terrified to tell and the lies I can’t keep maintaining. Trapped between the life I ran away from, the threat that Basili made that first day in the hotel room, and the life I now want with him. The life I am utterly terrified is out of reach.
Chapter Twelve
Basili
“Idon’t want to hear excuses, Omero. I want answers!”
I pace behind my desk, phone pressed to my ear, my free hand clenched into a fist. It’s nearing midnight, and I’m still holed up in my office, reviewing the same useless reports, still getting no answers.
“Boss, we’re doing everything we can,” Omero’s voice crackles through the line. “But the Russians have gone to ground. Nobody’s talking. Every lead we’ve chased down has —”
“Turned into nothing. Yes, I’m aware.” I cut him off, frustration bleeding into anger. “That’s all you’ve been telling me for three days. Nothing. Dead ends. No results. I’m sick of it. I want to know who is responsible and why they took him!”
“With all due respect, boss, they’re not excuses. They’re the facts. Whoever orchestrated Emmanuel’s kidnapping knew what they were doing. They’ve covered their tracks well.”
“Then uncover them!” My voice rises despite my best effort. “I don’t care what it takes. Rip the entire district apart if you need to. Offer more bribes. Break more fingers. But get me some damn answers.”
There’s a momentary silence over the line, and I take a deep breath, trying to contain my desire to blow up and destroy my entire office in the process. When Omero speaks again, his voice is careful, measured. “Boss, maybe you should take a step back from this. You’re not thinking clearly. Haven’t been for days.”
“My thinking is perfectly clear.”
“Is it?” He insists, an accusatory tone seeping in. “You’ve been distracted. Unfocused. And that’s not like you.”
I stop pacing. “Are you questioning my ability to lead this investigation?”
“No. I’m questioning whether your head is in the game or not.” Another pause. “Or whether it’s spread thin and somewhere else entirely.”
“My personal life is none of your concern.”
“It is when it affects your judgement. When it makes you reckless, volatile, and sloppy. It’s my job as your second to get you back on task.”
“I’m not sloppy —”
“You threw a contract at me yesterday because you couldn’t make a decision. You’ve snapped at three of our best men for minor infractions. You’re in your office at ten to midnight yelling at me about an investigation that you know is going to take time to solve.” Omero’s voice softens slightly. “That’s not like you, boss.”
He’s right.And I hate that he is.
“Just find me something I can use,” I say, forcing my voice back to cold, distant professionalism. “A name. Location. Anything that gets me closer to the man who ordered my son’s kidnapping.”
“I’m working on it. But boss? Maybe you should work on whatever’s happening with Chloe. One problem at a time is all any man can handle. Even you.”
I don’t dignify that with a response. “Call me when you have something concrete. Not before.”
