Page 33 of Burn for the Devil

I ran to the bathroom where I lost the contents of my stomach. My knuckles turned white, holding the edge of the toilet bowl while I heaved and gagged.

None of this is real.

Unsure if Timothy was really dead or not, I scurried back to my room for my cell phone. We’d exchanged text messages earlier, and there was one call from him before noon. His body may very well be on his kitchen floor. I scrambled for a reasonable explanation, one in which Ramone wasn’t the main character. He was the owner of one of the biggest companies in the world, there was no way he’d risk everything, especially not for a man as inconsequential as my ex.

It was merely a regular, interrupted burglary gone bad, if he was truly gone. Thieves always outfitted themselves in black. They knew their way around a home’s utilities. Normal peopleknew all these small, regular, stereotypical details that defined a criminal. There was no reason to believe anything else.

But why would I have been there? How did I get home? Fresh panic seized me all over again and I forced the thoughts away, locking them up tight. If I don’t think about it, it didn’t happen.

I’m a full-grown, completely healthy normal woman.

I am not losing my mind.

21

Ramone

Ilya strolled into my office like he owned the place. My irritation was instant. “What do you want?”

His eyes darted to the floor, and he moved toward the second chair that was positioned in front of my desk, clutching a group of folders in one hand. He looked up at me, arching a brow, before glancing at the floor again. “Are you going to clean that up?” he asked, tossing the folders onto my desk.

“No.” The roses that had sat on the corner of my desk had been relocated to the floor. Ilya was likely worried the water and flowers would mar his pristine shoes.

He rubbed his forehead. “You can’t leave that there.”

“Then clean it up.” I leaned back, resting my elbows on the desk and clasping my hands together. “Again—what do you want?”

“Violet!” Ilya barked. When she peeked through the door, he instructed her to clean up the strewn roses.

Separating my hands, I slammed the door in her face from across the distance. “I want it there,” I told Ilya. The mess on the floor was a reminder that I was fucking everything up. It toldme I lacked the self-control needed to stop myself from hurting her further. The symbolism of the crushed flowers would protect Samantha, would safeguard my goddess, and hopefully rein me in.

Ilya waited for an explanation he would never receive. On second thought, I realized, announcing my ownership of her by name would cease any pursuit by others. “Samantha Fern. No one is to touch her.”

“The girl you were with the other night?” Ilya inquired. I eyed him. “The opera, I saw you. Others did as well.”

Reluctantly, I pulled the files closer, knowing I had to examine them. “Yes, her,” I growled.

“I'm not going to touch her, Ramone. Kiara was the one for me; there’s no one else.” Anger and heartbreak emanated from the scarred man in front of me, his face and his heart both bearing the weight of my actions as well as his own. If he was truly going to leave Samantha alone, it was more than I deserved.

Meeting his gaze, I replied, “Thank you.”

“I’ll give you a minute to look over those documents.” Ilya stood up and poured himself a drink before returning to his seat while I perused the files.

My email folder indicated I possessed digital copies to electronically sign, but I still preferred the feel of paper in hand. Rifling through the documents and skimming them, it became even more obvious how much I’d neglected and how very valuable Ilya had been in keeping things afloat. He’d foregone relying simply on magic, illusions, and spell work although I knew those avenues had been utilized in conjunction with tangible methods. After signing where necessary, I closed the folders, stacking them neatly.

“You wouldn’t happen to be responsible for a man named Timothy Smith’s untimely demise, would you?”

Smirking, I answered, “Of course not.”

A low laugh left Ilya before he replied, “I thought that neighborhood was safe. Probably an isolated incident.”

“The police will probably call her soon. Do we have anyone we can send in?”

Ilya pulled out his phone. “I’ll send Stefan in; have him monitor.”

Fortunately, Stefan had multiple degrees ranging from psychology to law to criminal justice. He was perfect for the situation. I indicated my approval.

“You should know that Fulgere Industries is attracting multiple reporters who want interviews and photos. They think we’re an overnight sensation. I even saw a reference to you as the ‘world’s most eligible bachelor.’ Most eligible psychopath would be more honest, but the press never is.”

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