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“Coming,” I murmur and get out, opening the back door for my suitcase and bag.
Sophia takes the bag from me, leaving me to wheel my suitcase up the red brick driveway to the grand double front doors made from thick dark wood with iron studs in it. Very medieval. I hope the inside is a bit more modern.
Sophia opens the doors, and I take a step inside. The entrance hall takes my breath away with the cream marble floor, sweeping staircase which splits midway to go left and right, padded with a gorgeous Windsor print carpet. A crystal chandelier glitters overhead, and I feel like I’ve stepped into another world—one where I definitely don’t belong.
“I’ll get you settled, and then I’ve got to leave, okay?” Sophia whispers.
Nodding in awe, I follow her to the bottom of the stairs and grip my suitcase tightly as I lift it up, wondering what on earth I’ve got myself into.
10
SEBASTIAN
Sitting in the back seat of the sleek, black Mercedes, I squint into the tiny binoculars fixed on the top floor of the building in the city. They might be small, but they are state-of-the-art, and I can see Dante glaring out of the window before he moves back to his desk. He is rattled. Dante DeVare doesn’t glare out of office windows unless he has something he would rather not deal with, and the box I sent him is definitely not something he wants to deal with. But he’d better fucking had because I need him to. I need him to lead me straight to my target.
This is completely personal, although I like to think of myself as the consummate professional when it comes to this side hustle. I do it for fun, for the rush, the thrill that comes with taking a person’s life, and they never even saw it coming. Usually, it is a simple process, but this time, well, it kinda fucking helps if you can find your damn target.
“Come on, Dante. What are you waiting for?”
For three long weeks, I’ve been sitting here, ignoring everything else, and yet he does nothing. I wonder if he knows it’s me who sent him that box. Part of me hopes he does. He screwed me over, and I want what’s mine. TheDonof this fucking Secret Society is really to blame. He knew that the head of the South London chapter was mine, yet he passed me over for his long-time buddy, Dante. I always knew I was on the outside of that duo. Try as I might, I could just never crack that clique to be ‘one of them’. I’ve long since lost any anger over it, but the dull ache that they took what was mine has not.
My phone rings, and I answer it, putting it on speaker as I don’t move my gaze from the window.
“Yes?”
“Mr Christchurch. I’ve got a client for you.”
“Mmm?”
“She wants you to take out her cheating husband.”
Snickering, I lower the binoculars. “Oh?”
“Yeah, yeah. I know. I’ve been through all the dross with her. She is adamant, and she can pay.”
“Fine, send me the details.”
“On it.”
The line goes dead before it rings again, and I answer. “Mm?”
“Are you ever coming back to the office?”
“At some point. Is there something you can’t handle?”
“No, but still…”
“Stop pouting, Kai. If you can handle it, get on with it. This is more important.”
“More important than running a billion-pound empire?”
“Oh, yes.”
“I should get a raise.”
“Shut up and do your job, and maybe I’ll look into it.”
“Shut up and doyourjob more like.”
