Page 30 of Malevolent Secrets

“Yes,” I reply. No sense beating around the bush. “Hop in and I’ll take you home before I go to the office.”

She doesn’t hesitate and hurries around the car to climb in. I start the engine and pull away from the curb, my mind worrying over this development.

That is not one of our primary locations, but we do send more…sensitive…items through that building. It seems likely that someone is onto us and is trying to steal some of our product.

I don’t like that this was the place that someone chose to strike. It worries me that there are people who know what we’re up to.

“I had a really nice time,” Dani tells me when I stop in front of her place.

“I did too,” I tell her with a smile. I lean over and kiss her, meaning to keep the kiss gentle. She immediately wraps her hand around the back of my neck, however, and pulls me closer, her tongue dancing along mine.

I allow myself to be tugged into the kiss, angling my head to get better access and enjoying the dance of our tongues with one another. My phone suddenly starts ringing again, and I draw back with a curse.

“Here,” I tell her, pulling a business card from my wallet. I rummage in the center console of the car and find a pen. I scribble my personal cell number on it and pass it to her. “Reach out whenever you want.”

She takes the little square of paper and stares at it for a moment, then she nods. I can’t tell what she’s thinking just by looking at her profile.

“I hope everything is okay,” she says to me as my phone continues to ring in my pocket.

“It’ll all work out,” I reassure her. I’m not lying. Things always do get sorted out, even if that requires lopping off a few heads to ensure peace.

“I’ll…text you,” she finally says, giving me a concerned look. She opens her mouth like she wants to say something else, but then snaps it shut. She turns away and gets out of the car, and I drive away.

I look back at her in my rearview mirror, watching her slender form get farther and farther away as I drive. I wish that the sight didn’t feel so prophetic.

Chapter Nine

Daniella

I wake up with a headache, which is odd because I didn’t drink at all over the past week. All I’ve done is work and go home and go to bed. I tried texting him a few times, but he hasn’t replied to me.

Either something terrible is going on with his business, or he is ghosting me on purpose. I hate myself that I feel so disappointed that he isn’t answering me.

I’ve spent the past ten days struggling to sleep each night, plagued by images of the incredible sex that I’ve had with Lorenzo.

Each night I end up turning to my small stockpile of sex toys over and over again, wishing that the orgasms that they give me were half as good as the ones I’ve enjoyed with him.

It’s no use pretending that I’m in over my head now. There’s not much that could convince me to stay away from Lorenzo at this point, My very DNA is calling for him. If he wasn’t ignoring me so resolutely, I’d have been willing to let him fuck me each and every night.

I feel my stomach roiling with unease and I roll onto my side, wrapping my arms around my body. I close my eyes tightly, willing the rising tide of bile to stay down. I lose the battle abruptly and fumble out of bed to race to the bathroom.

I just manage to pull my hair to the side as I’m violently sick, my empty stomach heaving. I choke and cough, and slither down onto the floor, pressing my cheek against the cool tiles. I hate throwing up more than anything in the world and I grumble a little in frustration as I wait for the feeling of sickness to subside.

I call in sick to the office and huddle up under two layers of blankets. Maybe I’m coming down with something.

The nausea stays with me through the day and I can’t even complain because I am taking it as my punishment from the heavens. Maybe it is Jeremy’s way of telling me that he deserves better than me making such a mess of finding out what happened to him.

After a few hours of lying around, I decide that instead of letting the guilt drown me, I might as well turn to do something productive.

So, I get up and turn on my computer. That’s when I get the notification that Mark has sent me an email. Adrenaline and something more courses through my veins, and I click on the email.

To my surprise, he is offering to meet me at Café Bella, a nearby coffee shop. My heart pounds with a mix of anticipation and anxiety as I prepare for the meeting, my illness forgotten.

Café Bella is a quaint little coffee shop tucked away on a quiet street corner, exuding an old-world charm that immediately puts me at ease. The exterior is painted a warm, inviting shade of terracotta, with large windows framed by dark wooden panels. Hanging baskets overflowing with vibrant flowers add a splash of color to the rustic facade.

As I step inside, I’m greeted by the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the soft hum of conversation. The interior is cozy, with exposed brick walls adorned with vintage Italian posters and sepia-toned photographs.

The wooden floors creak gently underfoot, adding to the shop’s nostalgic ambiance.

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