Page 40 of Vicious Devotion

“I’m sending you some pictures,” he says calmly, his voice so tense and hard that my gut instantly knots, wondering what the pictures are of. “But before you check that email, I thought it was better you hear it from me.”

“Hear what?” I sink down onto the bench by the railing, my blood rushing in my ears. Something bad has happened. What it is, I’m not sure, because everyone that I needed to keep safe is here with me. My mind is racing, trying to imagine what other way Igor could have struck.

“The mansion—your house—” Gio takes a deep breath. “Igor’s men struck. It’s been burned, Gabriel. Parts of the structure are left, of course, but—” He lets out the breath sharply. “Everything inside is destroyed.”

It feels like a blow, like I’ve been struck. I can feel myself reeling for a moment, anger flooding me, overwhelming every other possible emotion. I can’t speak—all I can hear is my own pulse and the rush of my breath as I try to take in what Gio has just told me.

“Gabriel?”

“You’re sure it was Igor?” My voice sounds hollow. I can’t imagine who else it would have been. No one else has cause. But I have to ask. I have to be sure. The possibility that I have other enemies willing to go to those lengths that I’m unaware of is unthinkable, but if that is the case?—

“I’m sure.” Gio pauses. “There was a letter left in the mailbox. Taped to the top of the inside, so it wouldn’t be easily taken by anyone not looking for evidence. I’ve sent a photo of it to you as well.” He hesitates again, and I can hear him clearing his throat. “Do you want me to fly out, Gabriel? I can be on a flight in a couple of hours. I’m not sure if there’s any need for me to be here any longer?—”

“No.” I cut him off. “I need you doing reconnaissance there. Find out whatever you can about his movements. If he’s called in any favors, any alliances. I need more information. I need it now.”

“Noted.” There’s silence on the other end for a moment, and then Gio speaks again, an edge to his voice that I recognize as nervousness. “We’ve known each other for a long time, Gabriel, and?—”

“Just say it.” On the heels of the immense anger is a wave of tiredness, and the knowledge that when I hang up the phone, I’m going to have to look at the wreckage of my life back in New York.

“He’s after Bella.” Gio’s voice is flat, matter-of-fact. He has no stake in what happens to Bella, and I know that’s what enables him to say it like that, to say what he thinks I need to hear. “Not you. Not your family?—”

“I’m not handing her over to him.” The words come out knife-sharp, with a finality that brooks no argument.

“I’m not saying that. I’m saying you’ve gotta find some way to protect her, Gabriel, if you want to keep her safe. Because he’s coming for blood, and it’s going to be all of yours, unless there’s some solution we haven’t thought of yet.”

That hits me like a punch to the gut. “Just let me know what you find out.”

“Will do.”

The phone clicks off, and I drop it into my lap. The email notifications are lighting up the screen, and I stare at them for several long moments, unwilling to open them. To see what destruction Igor has wreaked.

When I finally do, and the photos of the burned-out mansion fill my screen, it feels like a fist has reached in and yanked my heart out of my chest. The house is a wreckage; all that remains of it is a hollowed-out, blackened brick structure with the roof, interior, and surrounding landscaping nearby reduced to ash.

Along with everything inside of it. Wedding photos. Baby pictures. Memories of Cecelia, Danny, and Delilah, some of which I have backed up on my computer, but others that are now gone forever. Vacation pictures taken on disposable cameras. The last few remnants of her clothing that I kept—the leather jacket she loved and her wedding dress, preserved in a box in case Cecelia wanted to make use of it one day. Our wedding rings, also saved for our children. Some of the clothes and toys that we kept from when Cecelia and Danny were babies. Art they brought home from school.

Igor has decided that it’s not enough to try to take Bella back from me. He’s decided that his revenge will mean taking everything.

The rage that fills me, looking through the photos, is all-consuming. It burns through me, wiping away any sense of restraint, any thought I had of bargaining with Igor Lasilov. His destruction of my home, my past, sends a clear message that I don’t need to look at the letter Gio found to understand.

If you want to run, I’ll make sure you have nothing to come back to.

I grit my teeth, swiping through to the last photo. The letter. It’s simple—only one line. But that one makes my vision swim red, a killing rage sweeping through me all over again.

Return my fiancée, or I will see the rest of your life reduced to ashes, one thing at a time.

I read it again. And a third time, as the realization of what needs to be done settles over me, Gio’s words still ringing in my ears.

Find some way to protect her.

Return my fiancée.

I grit my teeth, my hand tightening around my phone as if I could crumple it like a wad of paper.

I know what I have to do to keep Bella safe.

But she’s not going to like it.

13

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