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“Thank you.”
His eyes darken, and I don’t know what that heralds. “And there was this too.” He reaches into a pocket, pulls out a brown envelope, and hands it to me. “We were waiting for the Met to ask for all the evidence, but they hadn’t got around to it. And now, well, there’s not much point.”
Intrigued, I open the envelope. Inside is a passport—Alessia’s old one.
Shit.
My eyes meet his, and I have no idea what he’s going to say or what my response should be.
“I thought Lady Trevethick might want this back, my lord.”
I’m stunned into complete silence.
He smiles at my expression. “And let that be the end of it.”
I gape at him, not sure if I quite believe what he’s implying. “Thank you,” I blurt.
“I hear she’s made quite the impression here, my lord.”
“Maxim. Please.”
He grins. “Maxim.”
“She has. On all of us. That’s her, playing now.”
“The piano?”
“Yes.”
“I do love a bit of Beethoven.”
“Come and meet her. She doesn’t mind an audience.”
“I wouldn’t want to intrude.”
“It’s fine. Come.”
“Goodbye, Sargent Nancarrow,” Alessia says as they shake hands.
“My lady, such a pleasure.” His face flushes, and I know my wife has captured yet another heart.
“My lord. Maxim,” he corrects himself, and with a nod, he heads out toward his squad car.
I blow out a breath. He didn’t mention the death of the traffickers to my wife, and I decide to keep that information to myself for now—I know how unsettling it is for her to hear about that part of her life.
“He seems very nice,” she says but sounds uncertain. “Why did he come here?”
“He was returning some of the gear that the arseholes who were arrested at the Hideout stole from my flat and also to return this.” I retrieve Alessia’s old passport from my pocket.
“O Zot! He knows!” She bites down on her bottom lip, her eyes wide with worry.
“He does, but he’s chosen to give us both the benefit of the doubt. He’s not going to pursue it.”
Alessia frowns. “But when Dante and Ylli go to trial…” Her voice fades, and I shift my focus to Nancarrow’s car as it disappears down the lane. “Maxim. What is it?”
Fuck.
“Tell me!”
I turn to face her, and her jaw is set in grim determination.
Hell.
“They died in custody.”
“What? Dante and Ylli? Both of them?” Her voice is barely audible.
I nod. “That’s the main reason Nancarrow came to see me… us.”
“They’re dead,” she whispers again as if she can’t quite believe it.
“It would appear so.”
“Murdered?”
“Yes.”
Her gaze scans my face, and I watch as a dozen emotions cloud her eyes, until they harden. Frigid. Callous. Unlike my girl. “Good,” Alessia says, with such passion that I’m a little shocked. “I hope they rot in hell.”
Whoa. But yeah. I hope so too.
“It also means there’ll be no trial. We’re free from all that,” I whisper.
Tears well in her dark eyes.
Shit. No. “Please don’t cry. Not for them.” I circle her in my arms, pulling her close and kissing her hair.
“No. Not for them,” she responds. “For their victims. But I am relieved. We are free.”
“We are.”
She exhales, and her body relaxes in my arms as if a great weight’s been lifted. “It is a relief.” She tilts her head up, offering her lips, and I kiss her, falling under her spell as her fingers twist and tug my hair.
She pulls back, rewarding me with her sweet smile. “Now. We just need you to talk to your mother.”
I scoff and shake my head. “What? That’s a change of subject. And it’s my mother who needs to talk to me. I have texted her.”
“You have? Good. She will. She loves you. She wasn’t ready to tell her story. Only the shocking…um…headlines. And you weren’t ready to listen.”
I stiffen. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready to listen, and I don’t know if she ever loved me. She loved Kit.”
Alessia caresses my face. “Of course she loves you.” She draws my lips to hers. “How could she not? You’re her son… and I love you,” she whispers.
There’s a cough in the corridor behind us, and we straighten up and release each other.
“Danny?”
“My lord. Jem Gladwell is here to see you.”
“Great. Show him into the main drawing room.”
* * *
We’re stretched out on our bed when we should be sleeping. “Can we come back here?” Alessia asks, her head resting on her pillow, and I face her as she traces the outline of my tattoo with her finger. It tickles… but I love the attention.
“Of course we’ll come back here. It’s our home.”
“But soon.” Her hand cups my face.
“Once you’ve done your auditions. Sure.”
“Good. I love it here.”
“Me too. I feel hopeful in this place. And now more hopeful for the future of it and for the estate as a whole. I thought Gladwell was inspiring.”
“Yes. And funny too. He is good…um…company?”
