Tomorrow, and every day that came after, was a new day. A built-in second chance thateveryonegot, no matter how badly things had turned out the day before.
So tomorrow Charley would do better. She’d work hard with Dorian to dig up the kind of dirt that would silence Rudy for good.
And then, one day at a time, she’d build a new life. A better life.
She closed her eyes, her heart aching with one final realization:
It just wouldn’t be with Dorian Redthorne.
Chapter Sixteen
Dorian always preferred to run at dawn, well before the sun rose high enough to make his eyes ache. In the city, he had to contend with garbage trucks and buses and all manner of pedestrian traffic, even in the early hours. But here in the mountains, his only obstacles were the trees, easily dodged as he threaded his way through the forest.
In the city or the woods, Dorian had been running regularly for decades, and the fresh air and physical exertion had never ceased to clear his head, calming him through even the most challenging business conflicts, stock market fluctuations, and irritable run-ins with his father. But today, even after a punishing twenty-mile run, Charlotte’s blood still pulsing through him like a fiery elixir, her beautiful face was lodged in his mind like a bad dream he couldn’t shake.
Dreadful, conniving woman.
The words came easily, but deep down, despite all the lies and schemes, Dorian knew Charlotte wasn’t a bad person, or even a particularly devious one—just a desperate woman who’d been dealt a shit hand, made a few wrong turns, and gotten herself so deep into the game she no longer believed there was a safe way out.
Dorian was adamant about not letting her back into his bed—or his so-called soft heart, for that matter. But he couldn’t turn his back on her, either.
He’d promised to help her and Sasha, and that was that.
His family, on the other hand…
No. That was a rattlesnake nest he wasn’t quite ready to poke at this morning.
Shaking off the memories of last night’s argument, he revisited his conversation with Charlotte, combing through her story for details he might’ve missed. For something—anything—they might be able to use against Rudy.
Rudy.
Dorian could hardly think the name without seeing red, his entire body tensing for a fight. Most of his hopes were now pinned on Charlotte and Gabriel—that between the two of them, they could unearth something useful. The man had spent the better part of his life committing heists and fencing stolen artwork—likely to demonic clients. Therehadto be a trail.
Dorian crested a rise, Cole’s cabin now visible in the distance. He shifted course and headed toward it, forcing himself to go back to Rudy.
To Charlotte.
To her father.
To the One Night Stand heist.
The missing artwork.
The Hermes and LaPorte.
Vincent Estas...
VincentfuckingEstas.
Dorian gasped. That was it. The linchpin connecting Charlotte’s uncle to Rogozin’s organization.
Charlotte’s attack by Rogozin’s men happened decades ago, but the One Night Stand robbery was committed just five years ago, and Estas sold at least two pieces of that stolen artwork even more recently, which is how the LaPorte and Hermes pieces ended up in Dorian’s collection.
If Dorian needed any more proof that Rudy was working with Rogozin, Estas was fuckingit.
Suddenly, Dorian felt as if his shoes were winged just like the Greek god’s, speeding him down the other side of the rise toward Cole’s place.
He had his man.
