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My heart hurts as I stare at her picture. I look down at Elise, who has so much of her mother’s features – her mother, who was murdered by her father. She deserves to have a mum. She deserves the truth.
Xavier might have built an empire, but I will stop at nothing to burn it down.
He thought I would be easy. He underestimated me. I’ve sat back since Emery died – thinking, researching and planning. I let him think he won, but a good chess player always has a trick move up their sleeve. I let Xavier set the board, but it’s my turn to make a move, and he won’t see it coming.
Elise lets out a little whimper. I stroke her cheek. “Don’t worry. I’m going to protect you. I’m going to take him down for you, Emmy.”
I stare out the window to the guesthouse where it all started. Xavier said the queen protects the king.Wrong. The queen is going to take the king down.
Checkmate Xavier.
43
Xavier
Savannahsitsatthekitchen island, staring down at her phone that rests upon it. Her expression is unreadable while she remains completely still. She doesn’t even notice my presence until I break the silence.
“Are you okay?”
I wonder if it’s Ray on her mind. Whatever discussion took place last week before I walked in has affected her mood. She’s been reserved. I barely caught a glimpse of her tears before she wiped them away.
She locks her phone and sits taller. “It’s Jordan.”
I stifle my groan at the mention of Mr. Hunter’s lackey. “Is he bothering you again?”
“No. He just wants answers and doesn’t know who else can offer them.”
The sound of the tap fills the quiet as I contemplate how I want to play this.
“What does he want you to do?”
Her hands rub over her face in frustration. “I don’t know,” she groans. “But I feel like I need to do something.”
I grip the glass tighter to conceal my irritation at this recycled conversation. “Why? You got him proof of life,” I remind her.
Narrowed eyes, pursed lips and squared shoulders all indicate another pending argument. “One thirty-second voicemail will never be enough,” she snaps.
Those fucking thirty seconds took hours out of my life. Splicing together one word at a time until it was a seamless blend took work.
“It’s not my fault that was all he could be bothered to send.”
“That’s not like him. He would have bragged for days about his luxurious life.”
We’re back to this.
I slide my glass across the counter before leaning against it. Behind me, my fingers grip the edge with all my force to stop me from breaking something.
“I’m not having this argument with you again.”
“Who’s arguing with you?”
I give her a pointed stare. “You’re trying to.”
“It’s a problem if I share my thoughts with you now?”
“When they’re laced with accusations, yes, it is a problem. I’ve given you all the reassurance I can that he got on a plane.”
She grips the ring that rests on her chest. Her fingers move in slow motion as she rubs it – I wonder if she knows she’s seeking comfort from it.
