I’m grateful for the reprieve from my nightmares, and as she enters, she appears almost apologetic.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but Mr. Ravera has asked you to accompany me to the guest room below.”
“I’m moving?”
For some reason, I’m unhappy about that. I belong in a room like this. I’m at home in here, and she shakes her head as if disappointed.
“I’m afraid not.”
I breathe a little easier.
“He has arranged for the personal shopper from Harrods to deliver some outfits. Apparently, you are to escort him to a drinks party within the hour, and he has requested that you change.”
I nod, miserable that I have no choice in the matter, although a stirring of excitement tells me I’m looking forward to life outside this house, no matter how fleeting it will be.
“Of course.” I stand, happy about the distraction, and as I follow her out of the room, I leave my emotional baggage behind.
CHAPTER 11
JOSEPH
Icould do without this evening, but when Malik Karim issues an invitation, you refuse at your peril. I’m guessing he has heard of my guest, and he won’t be the first evil mind to be curious.
He is part of an organization that you go against if you have a death wish because where we have one family to deal with, he has several.
As a member of the exclusive Club Mafia, he wields more power collectively than any other mafia family in the world, and I’m amazed he didn’t decide to make a claim to the Diamond Dynasty himself. Then again, he is happily married to Eliza Ortega. A daughter of the infamous Ortega Mafia family, so as evenings go, this one is best spent sober.
I wait for Tiffany in the library. It’s a place I am comfortable in. Surrounded by books, all hiding secrets on every page. The fire burns in the grate and of all the rooms, this one is the coziest. The lighting is subdued and the furnishings comfortable and as I pour a generous amount of bourbon into the crystal glass; I admire its beauty as the flames reflect in the glass.
I’m dressed for the occasion in my customary black suit with a black shirt, the standard uniform for a mafia prince.
Spencer arrives, and I jerk my head to the wing-backed chair opposite mine, near the fire as I pour him a drink.
“Any news?”
“I have a few names. I would appreciate your opinion on them.”
I hand him the glass with an interest building that a conversation with Spencer always brings.
“There were four visitors to the convent since the first sister left. We understand the keys were there at the time.”
“What makes you believe that?”
He shrugs. “It’s a starting point, nothing less.”
He flicks his attention to his phone.
“Do you recognize any of these names? Serena Francis. Holly Davidson. Greta Garrison and Alison Cleverly.”
“No,” I shake my head. “None of them are familiar to me.”
His expression is blank.
“I did some digging and three of them have a trail that leads nowhere. Holly Davidson is the sister of Grace Davidson, one of the sisters in the convent. They left for the town and took lunch in the restaurant there before returning home. The sister lives nearby, and there has been no indication of any change in her schedule. Greta Garrison is the local shopkeeper. She buys produce from the convent and left with several boxes. Once again, she appears to have followed her usual timetable.”
He huffs, “Alison Cleverly came for an interview. She is interested in studying theology and sought a temporary placement in the convent, which leaves Serena Francis.”
I lean forward, sensing he has exactly what I need.
