Savage Sinners (Elites of Macedon High 3)

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Soren

The Moretti mansion stands as gloriously tended as ever when I park my BMW behind a shiny new Rolls-Royce. My eyes trail over the sleek design, the shiny egg-white rims, the tinted windows, and the license plate boasting the name of the man who will soon be pushing up daisies with my help.

A smirk crosses my lips as I shut off the car and wait for the driver’s side door to slide all the way up. The front door opens and a butler awaits my arrival, bowing at the waist and keeping his eyes on the ground as I wander inside. I pluck a wad of bills from my pocket and hand it to him, whispering for him to go upstairs and gather the maids.

“Make yourselves scarce,” I warn him. “Don’t come downstairs no matter what you hear. Understand?”

The butler races up the steps and out of sight, handling one security issue. I’m sure Amos has plenty of men surrounding the place, but whether they’re happy working for him isn’t entirely clear. It doesn’t matter right now. I check my phone, noticing a text from my head of security saying he has everything under control outside.

Surely there are a few guards inside, but they’re not as threatening as they would be with another dozen waiting for me by my car. Footsteps clap from down the hallway and I perk up, tucking my phone into my back pocket while waiting for Amos to appear.

He doesn’t seem as big as he did whenever I first defended Alex from him. His strides are long and sure, confidence echoing from every step. While a polite smile curves his lips, I can tell it doesn’t reach his eyes, his pupils enlarging like a predator noticing a threat.

My reflection of his grin causes him to pause near the grand mirror near the entryway of the hall. “Soren, I’m sure you realize Alexandra isn’t here.”

“I’m aware of that, Amos. I came to speak with you.”

“You’ll have to forgive me for being so rude, boy. I don’t see any reason to speak with you now that your father is dead.”

Squinting, I step forward while tucking my hands into my pockets, wearing a casual expression as I cock my head curiously to the left. “Would you have had something to do with that?”

“Hardly. Fletcher and I got along so well.”

“That’s not what I’ve heard.”

He snorts. “Is this the business you wish to discuss? It seems rather odd to me. Your father is dead and you have my condolences, but nothing else.” He whips out his phone, clicks through a few screens, and then holds it to his ear. “Security?”

Silence.

He frowns and repeats, “Security?” He pauses and requests, “Patrick? David?”

When he glances at his phone, my smile widens. I have all the patience in the world tonight. Once Alex informed me that the Sanderson brothers were dead, I went ahead with my plan, knowing the fool couldn’t possibly stop me without anyone to back him up.

I’m willing to bet the Persian doesn’t want him anymore either.

“We know, Amos,” I announce while approaching him slowly. “Every move you’ve ever made with the Sanderson brothers and the Persian is traceable.”

He frowns hard while tucking his phone into his pocket. “I don’t know what you mean, boy. If you’re listening to those silly little rumors that Marie likes to start…”

“Nah, Marie is gone. Paulina, too. Not a whole lot of rumors flying around by way of those mouths anymore.”

“Well, I’m sure you’ve heard it from someone who isn’t trustworthy.” His eyes sparkle. “A little whore, perhaps?”

The smile doesn’t leave my lips, but I make sure my gaze is vicious as I warn him, “You’ll never speak of Alex Moretti like that again.”

“And who’s going to stop me?”

“Who do you see standing here?”

He scoffs loudly while clapping his hands together, entertained by my response. It takes him a minute to get his laughter under control, so long that I almost lose my temper with him. But I know he’s simply playing a game with me, poking at what little cracks I might have in my facade to make me break.

It won’t work.

The man has no idea what I endured under my father and mother. He isn’t privy to the awful things my father said to me and about me, what kind of psychological torture I experienced in Villa Pershing. There’s nothing this man can say or do to me that hasn’t already been done.

Tease me? Fine, I’ve had worse.