Page 79 of Billionaire's Promise
"You think he’s connected with the attack on Ava?" Sinclair flicks dust off his £7000 suit jacket. No matter the occasion, he is always dressed like he has a bloody board meeting to attend. Me? I can’t stand ties, or collars, for that matter. No wonder Edward fits right in with these guys. He constrains himself with his duty to the Lord—or at least, he used to do so. And the rest of the Seven, with the exception of our resident rock star Damian? They don’t think twice about knotting a tie around their neck… If the occasion demands it. I’d rather face a bullet than do that. Oh, Wait, I had faced a bullet…many bullets, rather than risk being stuck in a nine-to-five existence, or any kind of relationship, for that matter. And now I am willingly looking to embrace conventions… Only for her. If this is the only way to keep her safe? Then I’ll gladly do so.
"Seems too much of a coincidence, don’t you think?" I tilt my head.
"Now that you mention it." Sinclair widens his stance. "You think he’s connected with the Mafia?"
"I know he is." I fold my arms across my chest. "It's why the normally controlled Father lost his composure. The man told him that he is linked to our kidnapping."
"How?" Damian scowls, "Did Edward mention any details?"
"He mentioned that the bastard was at St. Lucian's with us."
"What?" Saint exclaims. "Asshole was a fellow student? You think he shared information about us with the kidnappers?"
"Apparently." I nod.
"What else?" Arpad growls. "What else did Edward tell you?"
"He also said that he hadn't been in control of himself, which is why he'd lost his temper." I rub the back of my neck. "When he realized the man had helped perpetuate the incident and that he was still involved with the Mafia, he hadn't been able to stop himself. In fact, Edward had been sure that he'd killed the man. It was only when I went to the church and found his body, I realized he was still breathing."
"Did Edward mention where he was headed?" Saint interjects.
"Would you?" I narrow my gaze on him and Saint scowls.
"That's a no, then."
"And there's no way to contact him," Damian murmurs, "which means, there's no way for Ed to know that the man survived the attack."
"Do you think that's why he left," Sinclair turns to me, "because he thought he'd killed the man?"
"Among other things." I walk over to the coffee table, retrieve the folder with the pictures of the mystery man, then hand it over to Sinclair. "Thought I’d share his pictures, in case any of you recognize him."
Sinclair opens the folder, takes in the pictures. His gaze narrows, he flicks through the pictures, then stares up at me.
"What?" I frown. "You recognize him?"
"I swear I’ve seen him before, but I can’t place where."
Arpad walks over to Sinclair, takes the pictures from him. "Shit, I know him, he’s the homeless guy I got into a fight with. Bastard had video on his phone of Karina walking up the steps of the Town Hall to get married."
"He did?" I frown.
"That’s right." Sinclair snaps his fingers. "He used to sit in front of my office building. I am sure I put money into his hat a few times."
"Homeless guy?" Saint walks around the bar, snatches up one of the pictures from Arpad. "What the hell?" he swears. "I saw him in front of the Dorchester when I was with Victoria."
"So, let me get this straight," I glance around the group, "He’s had encounters with each of you?"
"I didn’t meet him," Damian says slowly, "but he must be the person whom Julia had a conversation with." Damian glances up from the picture he’d taken from Arpad. "She mentioned that a homeless guy had shown her his phone with the video of the song I’d recorded as an apology to her. It’s what made her change her mind about me, you know. In a way, I owe my being reunited with Julia to him."
"And if he hadn’t shown me the video of Karina heading up the steps of the town hall, I’d have never made it in time to stop her wedding." Arpad adds.
"He also had a signboard, on which he’d scrawled some poem from Byron."
"I noticed that too." Saint growls, "Asshole asked me for a cigarette, which I didn’t have. Bet he ate at the soup kitchen at my hotel every night, too."
I turn to Saint, "So did he help you in anyway?"
"Not unless you count the fact that Victoria felt sorry for him, and I told her the same thing, that he probably ate at the pop-up soup kitchen my hotel hosts every night with the leftovers.
