Page 139 of Heart of a Villain

Sayeda stirred.

He went over, readjusted her covers, and sat on the edge of the mattress. No one knew where he’d taken her, and the knowledge that he’d kept their location a secret gave him some relief, though not enough. Their location was nondescript and hard to find, but leaving her made him uncomfortable.

It was hidden, not secure.

Thankfully, what he needed to do wouldn’t take long, and he would be back before she woke up either later that morning or early in the afternoon.

Which was his fault.

His glorious fault.

Sayeda’s pussy was so good, every stroke made his dick feel like it was encased in gold.

She was worried that his returning to Brazil had been like a switch, and that the country would imbue him with the ruthlessness he’d left behind. But he never actually did leave it behind; he simply found things to care about. Caring made him more discerning. Caring created friendlies vs. hostiles rather than Chamas vs. others.

“Hey, Sayeda?” He brushed her cheek with a kiss. “I’m going out for a little bit. I’ll be back soon.”

She reached for him, her eyes closed, and lazily cupped the side of his face. “Okay. Bring me back a coffee and some freshly baked bread.”

“When I get back, we might be on the run.”

She paused. “Just the coffee, then.”

He laughed and kissed her again. “See you soon. I love you.”

“Love you too, baby. Be safe.”

“I will.”

One thing he’d learned was that regardless of the scenario, he had to always prepare for the worst to happen. In this instance, that “worst” was his death and subsequent failure to return, leaving Sayeda with no knowledge of what happened to him. He wasn’t sure whether she was the type to go looking for him, but he knew she wouldn’t leave the country without answers.

Before he left, he programmed a timed message to go to a phone he would leave behind for her. Then, he helped himself to one more kiss, and it took him longer than it probably would have to get down to the ground level had he been alone. She’d had a good point about leaving together while they had the chance, but Lorenzo would never stop following them.

And dead men couldn’t seek revenge.

“The prodigal son is here,” Lorenzo said, sneering.

Adrían smiled as he entered the grand hall at the Chamas mansion, his hands tucked inside his pockets. “Prodigal assumes I was wasteful,” he pointed out. “Me, I was otherwise detained. Federal prison, you know.”

Alessandra, seated next to Lorenzo, stroked her pearl necklace as she watched him. If she blinked, at any point, he missed it. For her, Lorenzo was the obvious choice she’d had to make to ascend to her powerful position, but it was painfully obvious that she’d been wet since the first moment he showed up.

Poor woman.

Chefe stood from his seat at the head of the table and opened his arms wide. “And, in all that time, no one came knocking at my door.”

“That’s because I’m not a snitch, Chefe,” he reminded them. “Plus, it was a nice little vacation. Once I got out, I did some traveling.” He glanced at Lorenzo. “Met some women.”

Cipriano roared a laugh. “That’s my boy.”

Adrían tucked a hand against his chest and bowed at the waist. This was Chamas, so he’d made sure to wear expensive suits whose cuts and stitching yelled louder than their designer labels. Interestingly enough, he was sure he wouldn’t have made close to what he’d made in Omega had he remained in Chamas. Then, eventually, he would have been killed for assassinating too many members of their “executive branch.”

Cipriano motioned to the chair directly to his right. “Have a seat, Gano. Come. Tell us everything about what you’ve been up to.”

Straightening his posture, he nodded once before obliging the older man. One of the servers went around the table, pouring them all a glass of Clericot solely for their customary toast. Cipriano Castilho, despite his murderous nature, didn’t believe in drinking before noon or on Sundays.

“Where is Juliana?” Alessandra asked.

Adrían lifted his glass from the tabletop. “In bed.”

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