Black Hearted (The Margarelli Brothers 1)

“On the move,” Trace said, sounding distracted. “Hmm, they seem to be moving in circles. Hold on, let me triangulate.”

I was clenching my phone in my hand. Clenching my jaw. Hell, my whole fucking body was clenched. And then Trace spoke again.

“Looks like . . . they are downtown. I think they are . . . shopping?”

I blinked. Sharp relief was within reach. I could almost reach out and touch it. I was afraid to believe that this was all a false alarm just yet, though.

“You’re joking.”

“No.”

“So, not tied up in a basement somewhere? You’re sure?”

“Not unless there is a basement torture room at Neiman Marcus.”

I exhaled, the tension leaving my body in a whoosh. The relief was palpable. They were fine. For now.

But anyone could get to them where they were. Out in the wild, so to speak. Unprotected. I had to get to her as quickly as possible.

Her ex’s family could be tracing their location. Maybe they had also just found them. But they wouldn’t know or even imagine they were alone and unguarded. I considered the possible angles and threats rapidly and decided they were likely safe for the time being. Still, I needed to get down there and make sure they stayed safe as quickly as possible.

“Keep on them,” I said and hung up. Then I rounded up her shamefaced guards and texted my own guards where to meet me. I also had a very special, very specific instruction for Michael, who shot back a ‘what the fuck’ which I promptly ignored.

“We’re on the move. Do not approach. We are going to give them a wide berth,” I added. I didn’t want to cause a scene. I didn’t want to spook Angelique, in particular. And I knew instinctively that neither of them would be happy to see me.

Her mother, in particular.

But my fear was being replaced by a new emotion.

Fury.

I would have to keep myself in check. I closed my eyes to focus my emotions as soon as I was inside the limo. Tiny didn’t say a word. The big guy knew when I was in a mood. I had cranky days before Francesca came back into my life. Too many. More than my share, most likely.

But in this case, ‘being in a mood’ didn’t begin to cover it.

They looked happy. Carefree. Like two ordinary girls, albeit extraordinarily beautiful and wealthy ones, having a fun, relaxed day where they pampered themselves.

That was my first thought. I was standing in Neiman Marcus watching two giggling girls pick out makeup at a counter. They tried on sunglasses. They tried on hats. They tried on some jewelry.

They bought almost everything they touched.

If there had been a peppy soundtrack playing, it could have been a montage in a movie.

Angelique made a show of trying to carry the bags, really hamming it up. They had lots of bags already. They had been busy in the relatively brief time since her guards had realized she was missing. It must have been even longer than they had told me, I realized grimly.

I had a feeling that Francesca was on the verge of calling for the limo. She’d have to get some help with that load. And then the gig would be up.

I wondered if she was nervous. I wondered if she was afraid I would find out what she did. I wondered if she had even spared me a thought when she came up with this harebrained scheme.

My hands were shaking with emotion. And still I waited. I watched, like a lion watching two tasty gazelles. I was biding my time.

An employee of the store brought them a rolling rack and loaded them up. Then he followed them to the elevators. I hissed my frustration as I had to wait and watch to see what floor they got off on.

The top floor. Well, I mused to myself, at least it wasn’t the basement. But I was having a hard time finding anything amusing about the situation.

When I got to the top floor, I found them almost immediately. There was a cafe up there with views of the river. The decor was white and black with pink accents. The girls looked particularly beautiful in that setting.

I would decorate a room in the new house in that color scheme, I decided. I would model it after this room. A lounge for Angelique to do her homework and hang out in. She would like that. And making Angelique happy made her mama happy too. Once I was no longer so furious, I would bend over backward to give them everything they could possibly want and more.

I watched as they bent their heads over their milkshakes, drinking deeply. I noticed that they had two different flavors, which was the way to things when sharing milkshakes, I assumed. They discussed something and then switched. It looked like Francesca preferred the cookies and cream, and Angelique preferred the strawberry. I’d have to remember that, I thought. For some time in the future when I wasn’t filled with anger and worry.