Page 47 of Into the Fire

I’d agreed to meet in this club in the middle of the city. In Kings’ territory. We were situated in the VIP section in a booth that blocked everything but my nerves. This was a place where serious business was conducted. Where people’s fates were determined. Some probably walked out of there unscathed. Others. . . well, they were most likely taking a dirt nap somewhere.

“Anson Beyers,” I said, eyeing him right back. “And you are?”

He stared at me for another moment before answering.

“Alessio Valentino.”

Right. I knew the name. Never had a face to put to it though, so this was a first. He was Vincent Valentino’s old man. A king’s king. An OG.

I breathed out. I needed to see Matteo.

“My birth name was Alessandro. I’m looking for my father.” I paused and swallowed hard, really fucking hoping I had my information correct. “Matteo De Santis.”

Alessio continued to survey me for a beat before he reached out and poured us both a glass of whiskey. He pushed a glass at me, and I took it, sipping it quickly.

“What was your mother’s name?”

“Delilah Beyers.”

He was quiet again, his dark eyes narrowed. I wasn’t sure he was going to speak again, but he finally nodded.

“Siblings?”

“Twins. Tianna and Trent. Tia is dead,” I said, my voice soft. “She died a few years ago with my mom.”

Alessio visibly swallowed and looked away. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“They were murdered in our home. I’ve spent the last seven years of my life searching for their killers. I barely remember my father, but as luck, or misfortune, depending on how you view it, would have it, I stumbled upon some information that Matteo De Santis is my father.”

“Is that a fact?” Alessio took another drink.

“So, I’d like to meet with him.”

“Why do you need to meet with him? Surely you know who Matteo De Santis is and what he looks like. That should be enough to jog your memory.”

“It’s not,” I said through clenched teeth. “Look, I remember he had a tattoo on his wrist. A cross. I’d trace it when I was a kid while sitting on his lap. I need to find him. I’m not looking for money or anything like that. I’m looking for help. If Matteo isn’t my father, I’ll walk away, and no one will ever see me again. If he is. . .” I swallowed hard. “Just help me. Please.” I opened my wallet and pulled out a family photo I had. My mom held Tia, and I had my arm around Trent. We were all grinning into the camera, and it was really the only thing I had left of them.

Alessio took the photo from me and peered down at it for a long time before he slid it back to me from across the table wordlessly.

He pulled out his phone and sent a message before getting to his feet.

“Come,” he said, nodding for me to follow.

I did so, falling in step with him as two men flanked him and led us downstairs and outside to a blacked-out SUV. No one said a damn word. Doors were opened and I crawled into the vehicle and sat in silence as Alessio sat beside me, the two men getting into the front.

“What’s happening?” I asked as the driver started the engine and we pulled out of the lot.

“We’re going to see your father,” Alessio murmured, casting me a sad smile. “Hope you’re ready. . . Alessandro.”

We pulledup to a mansion fifteen minutes later, and I stepped out of the car and stared up at the monstrosity before me. It reminded me a lot of Everett’s mansion. Guards were everywhere here. They peered out from all over the damn place. It was a fortress with its high, wrought iron fences and armed patrols with K-9s.

“Follow me,” Alessio said, gesturing to me. I did as he asked and walked with him into the house. The inside was even more beautiful than the outside. Marble floors. Crystal chandeliers. Cathedral ceilings. It was more like a museum inside than an actual home.

Alessio walked through the open foyer, and I followed him to a room situated down a long hallway somewhere deep in thehome. I’d have a hard time finding my way out if it came down to it.

He knocked once before opening the heavy door and stepping inside. Again, I followed, the door clicking closed behind me.

A tall, built man with jet-black hair stood by the fireplace, his green eyes locked on me. I swallowed, my chest tight.

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