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“Vanya says it was a woman,” I relay to him.
“A woman?” his voice is surprised.
“I think that this E-Ris person is a woman,” I divulge. “In fact, the name is from a Greek goddess. Eris, the goddess of strife and discord. Known in the Roman culture as Discordia.”
“So, we are looking for a female,” Anton repeats. “But who? None of the mafia families have any female leaders. Unless you’ve scorned some woman I don’t know about, I can’t think of anyone who would come after you like this.”
“It’s not me they are after,” I inform him. “It’s her. Luan said, ‘who says I was paid to kill her?’.”
“I’m confused.”
“I don’t think he was planning on killing her the night her parents were murdered,” I explain. “There is no way she should have gotten away like she did. He’s a skilled killer. Helether go knowing she would run to me.”
“So, whoever this E-Ris is, she’s after you?” He still doesn’t get it.
“No,” I assure him. “E-Ris is targeting Vanya. I bet whomever it is expected me to kill her. When I decided to sell her instead, they positioned Peter to do the buying.”
“Then why shoot at her in the alley?”
“Because I didn’t do what they planned.” I can’t believe I didn’t see this before. “They wanted a reason to start a battle in Vegas and if I killed or sold Vanya, the other families might have taken it as an act of war. They would have believed that I was the one behind the hit and that they would be next.”
“That seems like a stretch,” Anton sighs. “I’m not saying it’s wrong, but who gains from a war between the families.”
“Someone whose family has been after it their whole life.”
“The Albanians,” Anton breathes.
“Now I just have to figure out how Vanya fits into all this.” Because some things aren’t adding up when it comes to her. She looked at me like I hung the moon and stars and not like the bastard who nearly sold her to her abusive ex-fiancé.
“Do you think it could be Cora Berisha, Ada’s mother?” he asks. “She’s the only one we can’t account for.”
“Vanya says she died in a car accident when Ada was fifteen,” I remind him.
“I’ll see if I can get my hands on the report,” he tells me. I chuckle.
“No need,” I say as I look down at my phone. I’ve been going through the messages I neglected throughout the day. “My mother is one step ahead. One of the detectives down at the station texted to tell me she requested the file.”
“Why?”
I stare down at the beautiful creature in my arms.
“I guess I’ll have to ask my mischievous fiancée when she wakes up.”
Thirty-One
Adrian’s arms are wrapped around me. Holding me gently to his chest, whispering soothing words. I feel the vehicle come to a stop and a few moments later, the sound of the door opening. Groaning, I shift my head away from his shoulder to get a better look. It's still dark but I can tell from the heavy sound of traffic and the buzzing of voices that we are somewhere on the Strip.
“Where are we?” I ask sleepily.
Adrian slides out from inside of the Escalade keeping me in his arms. He looks down at me, something different shining in his eyes. “The French Quarter,” he tells me. “One of my prestige hotels on the Strip.”
Oh.
I've only seen one of his hotels, the one I went to for wedding dress shopping. I look toward the building he's walking to, my eyes widening at the sight. It's beautifully rustic. It has the elegance of the Paris, but with a sensual feel that oozes desire and lust. Anton leads us to the side of the building where one of Adrian's men stands guard in front of a pair of grand elevator doors.
As we walk toward him, he presses the elevator button holding the doors open for us, and we step inside. Anton presses his thumb against a scanner and up we go.
“This is fancy,” I murmur. Anton chuckles.
