Page 85 of Lethal King

“Do you think they could be trying to go legitimate?”

“There’s no fucking way.”

I hadn’t even considered that option.

With a quick flurry of typing, I try to find out if Leander Onasis has any remaining criminal connections. But no matter how wide I cast the net, I don’t see anything that would suggest he does.

“Well, if they’re not trying to go legitimate, then that means Leander must be trying to go dark,” Maksim remarks.

A quick peek at the man’s net worth makes that assumption seem absurd. It would be insane to risk all that money and influence to get back into the criminal world.

“Why the hell would he do that?” I ask. “Especially after his father clearly worked so hard to get out of the underworld.”

Maksim doesn’t seem to have a direct answer for that.

“If I remember correctly, Stravos Onasis dead, right?”

“Heart attack,” I quickly confirm, looking up his obituary. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Not much,” Maksim acknowledges. “But perhaps father and son didn’t share the same vision for the future.”

The implication is clear. But the reasoning still remains murky.

Before I can dig any deeper into that mystery, though, a notification pops up on my screen.

One of my programs has made a connection.

Clicking on the link, I’m led to a map.

My stomach drops.

Rozalia’s scrambler may be strong enough to keep me from knowing her exact location, but it only works to an extent.

My tracking signal is powerful enough to still give me a sense of what area she’s in. And as far as I can tell, she’s currently in roughly the same region she was in last night—somewhere up north, near the water.

Her hazy tracking cloud seeps into the ocean, like she’s camped out somewhere along the shore. By now, I could have easily sent a hundred men to sweep the area. But I haven’t seen the point. She was supposed to meet me this morning, after all. And why wouldn’t she? I’d promised her freedom.

Now, I’m wishing I’d sent those men up north—if only to catch her in the act.

Because she wasn’t the only subject of interest down by that part of the shoreline last night.

My program has picked up on the geolocation history of a yacht registered under Leander Onasis’ name.

He was there with her.

He might still be.

The coincidence is too great to ignore.

Any bit of concern I’d had for Rozalia is eviscerated by an eruption of red-hot jealousy.

Did she run to him?

Was he watching as she squirmed against my rising dial? Did he hold her as she begged for more? Did he get to taste her cum?

The idea is infuriating. Even if I’m well aware of the absurdity of it all, I can’t help the rage that flows through my veins.

With a few clicks, I find a mansion on the beach that’s also registered to Leander Onasis. It’s not far from where his yacht is moored.