Page 85 of The Masked King

“Why did they tell you?” Megan asks, navigating the questions I’m still searching for. “Are they the same people who shot Enzo? Why didn’t they deliver the message personally while they had the chance?”

Bianca finally makes eye contact with her. “Because this is a game to them. Enzo didn’t play along, so they moved onto the next level.”

“Have they been holding her captive for a year?” Megan furrows her brow and covers her hand with her mouth.

I know what she’s thinking: if Demi was captured by a Bratva mob twelve months ago, it means she didn’t leave me. She didn’t actively choose to walk away from me.

Which means she still loves me.

“The Bratva are too impatient for that,” Bianca shoots her down, and stills my racing pulse.

“This all began with JADED,” I say.

It seems I’m a couple of steps behind them, but now that I’m catching up, I think about the card Sofia gave me in Rome. The card that’s still in my pocket. I retrieve it and flip it over to the tiny green code printed at the bottom.

MID-PEA-YEN

I stare at the letters until they blur. “It’s a fucking anagram,” I mutter to myself.

“What are you talking about, Enzo?” Megan stands beside me and takes the card from my hand, holding it carefully as if it might burst into flames.

“Rearrange the letters and what do they spell?”

Her lips move silently as she reassembles the code to form the name on the tip of my tongue. “Demi Payne.”

“Call Gio.” I’m firmly back in fight mode now that Demi is involved. “Tell him that he needs to come and get you and the twins and get as far away from here as possible.”

“What about Amber?” she whispers, eyes wide and dark.

“Take Amber out of school. Go to Sicily. Go somewhere you can all disappear for a while, and don’t try to contact me.”

“Where are you going?” Megan grabs my arm.

Bianca hasn’t moved or said a word.

“To save Demi. I have twelve hours. Enough time for Gio to get you the fuck out of this city. Bianca, stay with her.”

“You know Gio won’t go,” Bianca says calmly.

“Make him.”

I don’t wait around.

I’m outside the building, scanning the street for a glimpse of thug-thighed Bratva when my phone rings.

22

DEMI

A shudder travels down my spine when I’m standing outside the house that Enzo set fire to. The façade is still intact, patchy with soot, and many of the windows have blown wide to allow the elements in, but it still appears to be structurally sound.

Inside is different.

The stench of smoke and rotten wood is overwhelming; it makes my eyes sting and scratches the back of my throat, causing me to take dry, wheezy breaths. The walls are blackened, paper hanging from them in curling strips. The furniture that remains is reduced to charred frames and crumbling upholstery. It’s as if a storm of black ash blew past and left everything behind in perpetual shadow.

But the ceilings are high, and there’s a grand staircase leading from the central foyer to a sweeping mezzanine level that serves both sides of the property. It must’ve looked spectacular when it was a home that was lived in, loved, and cherished.

A family home.