Page 109 of Love Bleeds Red
Our footsteps echo along the marble floor of the foyer. This place is no different than when I was a child—cold, stuffy, for show. No wonder I blocked it out.
“There you are.”
The voice drifts from the shadows near the grand staircase, completely calm. Alfred steps into the light, looking as polished and professional as always in pressed slacks and a navy blue cashmere sweater. But the circles under his eyes give him away. His silvering hair might be perfectly styled, but he’s thinner than when I last saw him up close, more haggard.
“You made good time,” he says, checking his Rolex. “Though I expected you earlier.”
Behind me, Bailey’s breathing has become shallow and audible, but she stays strong.
“Where is she?” I keep my voice level and my hand hovering on my gun.
“Your mother is quite safe, I assure you.” Alfred’s eyes shift to Bailey, and his expression softens in a way that makes me want to kill him here and now. “Hello, darling. You’re lookingdifferent. Not sure I care for the haircut. Longer suits you… How it was before you left me.”
“I didn’t leave,” Bailey says quietly. “I escaped.”
“Semantics.” He waves a hand. “You’ve learned to speak up for yourself. I’m pleased. All that refinement wasn’t wasted.”
The more he speaks, the stronger my pull to end him here and now. But I need information. Violence can wait.
“What do you want, Alfred?”
“Want?” He seems genuinely puzzled by my question. “I want what I’ve always wanted, Leon. Family. Legacy. The satisfaction of seeing my work come to fruition.” His gaze moves between Bailey and me like he’s admiring an art collection. “You two represent everything I’ve been building toward. It didn’t work out with James—he was always too coddled, too stupid to get anywhere. But not you, my greatest achievement.”
“Your greatest achievement is human trafficking and murder,” I say. “You’re a monster.”
“Now that’s harsh.” He fusses with a speck of dust on the banister, then studies me. “I prefer to think of myself as a curator. I find broken things and make them beautiful. It’s charity, really. Take your mother, for instance.”
My hand inches closer to my gun. “What about my mother?”
“Sweet Ada. She was so damaged when I found her. Barely eighteen, running from an abusive boyfriend, scared to go back home, of what her parents would think. I gave her purpose. Stability.Love.” The way he says the word makes me nauseous. “Even after she left with you, I never stopped caring for her.”
Bailey touches my back in a show of solidarity that I desperately need. It keeps me focused, keeps me calm.
“What are you saying?” I seethe. “I thought my mother worked for you as a housekeeper? Why would she be afraid to go back home? My grandparents loved her!”
He shoots me a condescending smile, like I’m nothing but a naive child. “Your mother was never just a housekeeper. She was my first real success story. I’d say she even started me on the path to helping so many more broken women.”
There’s no way. My mother would have told me—someone would have.
“She was special from the moment I found her,” Alfred continues, his voice taking on that dreamy quality again. “So broken, so lost. But I saw her potential. I took her in, cleaned her up, taught her how to speak properly, how to carry herself with dignity. How to be grateful for what she’d been given.”
“You’re lying,” I say, although a small alarm in my mind is blaring that it has to be true.
“Am I? Why don’t you ask her yourself? Though I suspect our stories might differ in details. See, she remembers our relationship quite differently than it really was. Head in the clouds, that one. She always believed I loved her, even when I married Jeneva. In her mind, she had to leave because I was being forced into an arranged marriage. That I wanted her to have you, to be with her parents again.”
The pieces are falling into place in the worst possible way. I can barely breathe from the tightness in my chest.
“She was eighteen. A teenager.”
“Legal age,” Alfred says dismissively. “And far better off with me than on the streets, or with her penniless parents. I gave her everything—shelter, food, education, refinement. She was grateful for it all. The beautiful thing about Ada is that she never stopped trusting me. Even after all these years.” He picks at an invisible piece of lint on his shirt. “She calls me for advice about you, you know? Shares your achievements, worries about your well-being. She has no idea she’s been my most valuable asset.”
“What do you mean, asset?”
“How do you think I knew exactly when you’d arrive in London? Where you were staying? Who you were working with?” His smile widens. “Your devoted mother has been keeping me informed every step of the way. All she wants is her baby boy to grow up like his powerful, wealthy father. It hasn’t taken much convincing to get anything I want out of her.”
“But why now?” I ask. “Clearly, you enjoy ruining the lives of innocent people. Why bother to put in all this work in my honor?”
Bailey’s touch on my back becomes firmer. Silently telling me she’s there, that I’m not alone.
