Page 124 of Lovely Venom

Something sharp twists in my gut as she meets my reflection in the mirror with empty eyes.

“Angelo was right. There’s nothing in this for you.”

“Enjoy your class.” I scrape a hand over my face and stalk down the hall.

I’m in the kitchen checking the text from Bruno when I hear the front door slam. He’s here to pick her up, and I already have eyes on her outside. But it doesn’t stop me from pulling up the camera to make sure she’s safe as she gets in the car.

I assign two extra guards to follow her as an itchy feeling claws at my throat. I don’t like the idea of her out in the world with her stalker roaming free, and we still don’t know who he is.

Romeo and I planted surveillance in Black Velvet, and I’ve been trying to narrow down the pool of suspects. But so far, it hasn’t produced any solid leads. And as much as it might appeal to me to lock Chantel away, it would only make her hate me.

Once she’s gone, I make a quick call to Romeo to check in. It takes him forever to answer, and when he finally does, it’s clear that I woke him.

“Have you forgotten I don’t get up at the ass crack of dawn?” he grumbles.

“I need to know where we’re at on the stalker.”

He heaves out a sigh, then murmurs something into the background, presumably to Gabi, telling her to go back to sleep.

“Give me a minute,” he says.

There’s some rustling around on his end before I hear him typing at his computer.

“The bug in the dressing room picked up pieces of a conversation between Chantel and her friend. She told Chantel more letters had arrived. Five of them, from the sounds of it.”

“He’s escalating.” I let out a frustrated breath. “Nothing of significance on the cameras backstage?”

“The only people entering the dressing room are the other performers and staff.”

I pause to think about our next steps. I’ve already vetted the male staff at the club, and Romeo’s been tracking their locations for the past week. There’s no indication any of them have been following Chantel.

Having a camera in the dressing room would provide tangible proof, but that crosses far too many lines.

“Do you think one of the other dancers is just trying to scare her?” Romeo asks. “Maybe they want her to quit.”

It’s an option I’ve considered. Chantel has a coveted position as a solo act, and a jealous rival isn’t out of the realm of possibility. But after doing some research, this feels more like erotomania than anything else. The notes are proof of the stalker’s delusions.

“Whoever it is has convinced themselves that they have a real relationship with her,” I say. “They think she’s sending them secret signals during her performances, and they’re interpreting normal interactions as something significant.”

“So what you’re telling me is this guy’s not playing with a full deck of cards,” Romeo remarks.

“Who do we have dirt on at the club?”

“Besides Viktor?”

“Yes. Preferably one of the dancers.”

“I can get you a list. You thinking blackmail?”

“We need to speed things up. That’s easier to do with eyes on the inside.”

“I’ll send it over now.”

I thank him, and we disconnect the call. I’m already getting a later start than I’d like, but I take a minute to track Chantel’s location.

She’s at her Pilates class, just like she said she’d be. And now that I have something actionable for the stalker, I think about the current situation with her.

I already know pushing her won’t work. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned about her over the past few years, it’s that she enjoys it when we spar. Because even if we’re fighting—it’s still an interaction.