Page 73 of Twins for the Mafia Heir

There’s dread in my stomach, and it’s not just anxiety from possibly seeing Achilles again. Something’s wrong. I don’t know what, but Iknowit is.

I forget the speech I had prepared in my head as I walk up the stairs toward the front door. I almost forget the code knock too, but remember just in time. Paul stands back on the sidewalk, keeping a careful distance to appear non-threatening. Holding my breath, I wait, every nerve on edge. Eyes inside the house assess me through the peephole, silently judging, giving me no chance to explain.

Locks turn inside, and the door eases open a crack. I was so tensed up to see Achilles again that when I see Piers instead, I almost collapse.

“Well, would you look at that,” Piers says, pulling the door open a bit wider. His brows lift, green eyes giving me a once-over from head to toe. “Didn’t think I’d be seeing you again, Miss… Not-Raleigh.”

I swallow, my stomach flopping around like a fish. How much did Achilles tell him? How much did he keep to himself? “Is Achilles here? I need to talk to him.”

Piers doesn’t answer right away, his eyes shifting to Paul, eyeing him with more wariness than he showed me. “Who’s this bloke, then?” he asks.

“My friend, Paul,” I say. “He’s…” I blush a little. “He’s my emotional support.”

Piers blinks slowly at me, bemused. “So, you really came all this way to patch things up with your pretend husband?”

My throat is so tight I can’t answer with words. I only nod. Piers heaves a sigh, but steps aside.

“Best come in, then. Him too.”

“Achilles-”

“He’s not here,” Piers cuts in, but his tone softens. “Come on, we’ll have a natter inside.”

Achilles isn’t here.

According to Piers, I’ve missed him by almost two weeks. Worse, he says Achilles only meant to go into London for a short intelligence-gathering mission.

“That’s what he reckoned, anyhow,” Piers says, passing out steaming mugs of tea around the dining room table. I clasp mine to warm my hands, but the chill inside me goes deeper than bone. “I’m beginning to think he planned to take on Fantasiahimself all along, just wanted me out of the way so Sidony could stay put in Edinburgh, where she’s safe.”

He glares into his dark, amber tea. “Next time I see him, I swear, I’ll wring his bloody neck- mark my words.”

“There’s been no contact?” I ask desperately. “Nothing at all for two weeks?”

Piers shakes his head. “And there’s no dragging the lass back to London without a clue as to what’s going on. I’m stuck here, exactly as he intended.”

I look over at Paul, who’s sipping grimly at his tea. He wrinkles his nose at me. “If he’s captured, he’ll probably be in Wesley Hall, right? The place we said wewouldn’t go?”

I nod, my beleaguered stomach sinking. “But if he’s holed up, he could be anywhere.” I turn back to Piers. “Fantasia isn’t looking for us. She doesn’t know Paul, and I’ll be in disguise. We’ll take a look around. Do you have a safe way for us to contact you?”

Piers shakes his head. “Only if you’ve got the knock, and we’re face to face. Once you leave, you’re well and truly on your own.”

The light in the house is still hazy with sleep as Paul and I leave. I pause outside the door of the den, desperate to pop in on Sidony and make sure with my own eyes that she’s safe. But I don’t know what Achilles has told her about me. If I wake her up only to frighten her, I’ll never be able to forgive myself.

Chapter 40

Emma

Idon a disguise very similar to the one I wore as Silver in a tiny town just outside London. I expect to feel instant relief when I pull on the baggy pants, hoodie, and face mask that hide my gender. But I’d gotten comfortable with the fine and feminine clothes Achilles and Sidony helped me pick. I’d gotten used to looking at myself in the mirror and liking how I looked rather than thinking of how I could hide it.

Even during the weeks I’ve been back at Warwick estate, I’ve been using a bit of my salary to find clothes I liked instead of utilitarian clothes that just fit. Nothing as expensive and flashy as the mafia bride’s wardrobe I had before, but still. I put in effort, and returning to my street thug attire now is jarring.

We’re not taking any chances, though. Paul will pretend I’m his young son while we’re walking around the city together. When we’re separate, we’ll still be in constant contact through small bluetooth headsets. Neither of us are going near Wesley Hall, not yet, so while we’re not recognizable, there shouldn’t be too much danger.

I’m hoping and praying that Achilles’s silence is purely cautionary, and not because he’s in trouble. God willing, we’ll getthe intel we need on his whereabouts, and I’ll be able to talk to him without putting myself in any real danger.

Once we’re inside the city, Paul and I travel as far as the shops just outside of Ashwood House’s neighborhood before we split up. I hop on a bus to Covent Garden, and Paul strolls off down the street, looking for all the world like a civilian out for a walk.

Covent Garden is only a little less packed in February than it was in the weeks before Christmas. It’s surreal to be here without all the red and green decorations up, and especially without Achilles and Sidony at my side. I make sure to drop into a little novelty shop on the way to The Cooper’s Arms and buy some bars of scented soap. The bag on my arm will help me look less like I’m on a mission and more like I’m just another tourist.

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