Page 86 of Sinister Intentions

Then I looked at Bianchi and Michele who were both grinning.

Great, just damn, fucking perfect.

“We shouldn’t let Father wait,” Matt said, and I nodded.

“The two of you should take a break,” I said, directed at Goofy and Peaches, who both nodded in agreement.

Matt, Alex, Bianchi, and I headed towards the conference rooms on the third floor while Michele accompanied Peaches and Goofy.

I received a couple of messages as soon as we left the server room but ignored them for now.

When we arrived, my father and his cronies were already assembled. I took my place on the opposite side of the table from him and leaned back in my chair, eyeing my father across the polished mahogany. Meeting twice in one weekend—must be a new record.

The conference room reeked of expensive cologne and stale cigar smoke, a mix that clogged my nostrils. I drummed an impatient rhythm on the armrest, the only outward sign of my growing irritation that I decided to show.

This was a cheap power play. So typical of my father.

“Now that we’re all finally here,” Father drawled, his glare settling on me, “I have some exciting news.”

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. His idea of “exciting” usually meant more headaches for me.

“It’s a very recent development but one that I think will be very beneficial for both sides.” His smug smile set my teeth on edge. Whatever had he cooked up now?

Alex’s phone buzzed. “Hey, princess,” he murmured, taking the call while getting up. He took one step, then suddenly stopped. His rigid posture and sharp glance in my direction sent a chill down my spine.

Something was off.

Alex continued outside, and I looked at Matt and sent him after Alex with a nod of my head.

Father cleared his throat, commanding attention like the pompous ass he was. “Gentlemen, I’ve secured a new alliance that will strengthen our position considerably.”

My hackles rose. An alliance? Without my knowledge? Of course. I clenched my jaw, tasting bitter resentment on my tongue. I was so done with this bullshit.

Father gestured to one of his lackeys, who went to the exit on the other side of the room. The door creaked open, and in walked a figure that made my blood run cold.

Ivan Zotov.

Fuck.

What was the bastard up to now?

I slowly stood, leaned down at the table, and glared at my father, but before I could even raise my voice, Matt appeared by my side. “Fee says Jemma went out to meet some friends this afternoon. She’s still not back and not picking up her phone.”

I froze, my mind racing. Jemma was missing? A cold dread settled in my gut, clashing with the anger already simmering there.

“When was the last time anyone heard from her?” I demanded, my voice low and controlled despite the turmoil inside.

Matt shook his head. “Don’t know.”

I clenched my fists, torn between the urgent need to find Jemma and the urge to shut down the irritating situation unfolding in this room.

Ivan Zotov’s presence complicated things exponentially. What game was he playing?

And what was my father planning now?

“Vince,” my father’s voice cut through my thoughts, sharp and impatient. “We have important matters to discuss.”

I met his gaze. “Indeed we do,” I growled, then focused on Zotov.

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