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“You know you have my friendship in this. Whatever you need—manpower, weapons, cash—it’s yours.” Yes, so long as his daughter makes it home safe. I’m no fool. There are always conditions behind every promise. I’m only glad Paul set this in motion, since I don’t know if I could manage to come off as anything but opportunistic had I suggested a similar arrangement.
“Thank you, Sir.” I lift my glass to him before draining what’s left inside.
“I suppose you want to get back to that gorgeous thing you’ve been strutting around with all evening.” It didn’t take long for him to switch topics, did it? Now there’s a lascivious twinkle in his eye. “You’ve always been a good-looking kid, but how did you manage to rope a beauty like her?”
“Fate has a funny way of bringing people together, doesn’t it?” Probably a lot less than he was hoping for me to share, but he can keep waiting if he thinks I’m going to open up more than I have. “I’m sure she’s fending for herself out there, though I imagine she’s feeling a little out of her depth. She’s new to our world.”
“In that case, you’d better get back out there before one of my sons decides he wants to get to know her better.” I see what he means. Paul Jr. and his brothers are notorious womanizers, even worse than Vincent at his most active. “You know the ladies can’t resist that Giordano charm.”
Right, and I’m sure their money has nothing to do with it. “Thank you, Sir. Anything you need, you call me. Day or night. I’ll be there.”
I turn to Beckett, who nods. “The same goes for you. If you get jammed up, I’m a phone call away. Anything you need.”
“Thank you.” He doesn’t move an inch. He barely blinks. I hardly know him well, but I can’t remember him being this intense. I’m sure months of tracking a runaway will do that to a man. He could probably use a good, long vacation, but that’s never going to happen so long as Olivia is out there.
Once I’m out of the study, I release a long breath and let myself relax. That was almost too easy, much easier than I imagined.
Is it crazy that I can’t wait to find Delilah and tell her?
Yes, it is. It has to be. None of this matters to her in the slightest. She has no stake in any of this. Granted, life will go better for her if my family isn’t left swinging in the wind, but still. I can’t expect her to be overjoyed that something went well for me, not even something this crucial.
So why am I practically salivating, hungry to get back to her and share the good news? I’m even getting a little hard as I enter the ballroom and scan the many faces, searching for hers. At this rate, we won’t make it back to the limo before I have to take her. Not a bad idea, really. I could use a celebration.
She said she wanted to use the restroom, didn’t she? Maybe there was a line. Women often have to deal with things like that, don’t they? She could have gotten caught up in there, fixing her makeup or whatever it is women do when they go to the bathroom in groups. “Excuse me,” I say to the first server who crosses my path. “Where’s the nearest restroom?” He points to a small alcove between the ballroom and the kitchen, and I have to imagine that would be where she chose to retreat.
And now I wonder if we couldn’t get down to business in there, with the door locked and my hand over her mouth to muffle her screams. Then again, it’s so loud around here, I doubt I would have to muffle them much. She can shriek like a banshee when she’s good and heated up, but there are a hell of a lot of people here and the champagne’s beginning to kick in. The dancing in the ballroom is much looser and more energetic than it was not twenty minutes ago.
The door is slightly ajar. I rap against it. “Delilah?” I call out, careful in case it’s not her in there. When the only response is silence, I push the door open, revealing a small room with a toilet and a long vanity. The door to the toilet is open, too.
I turn around, confused, wondering if I crossed paths with her and didn’t realize it.
When I make a move to leave, thinking she might have gone back to the entry hall and the appetizers, I kick something that skitters across the marble floor.
Something that glimmers and shines.
I crouch to pick it up, instantly recognizing the earring. She knows how important this is. Valuable beyond any dollar amount. Even so, the value of it alone seemed to stagger her—no surprise there. I’m sure she’s never worn anything this expensive.
Something is wrong.
In an instant, the happy buzzing in my head comes to a halt. Everything goes crystal clear as I pocket the earring, then make another tour of the party. I glance off one man, then another, both of them too slow to get out of my way in time. Like I give a shit. Where is she? She wouldn’t have left, wouldn’t have run. Would she? Then what explains the earring? What if she lost it, didn’t realize she had, and ran away out of fear? No, that makes no sense. None of it makes sense.
“Luca.” Paul is having a conversation with Rico and Paul Jr., the three of them standing in front of one of the several open bars set up throughout the first floor. “Is everything alright? Don’t tell me that girl of yours ran off with somebody while I had you—”
Something in my face stops him before he finishes the thought. “What’s wrong?” he asks, while his sons set their drinks aside.
I hate to say it. I hate to think it. But I can’t deny it, either. If there is such a thing as a sixth sense, mine is screaming at me.
“I think I have a problem,” I tell them. “A big one.”
