Page 12 of The Broken Queen
I looked up, catching my twin’s gaze. Dad had mentioned that Markos was intended to marry our mom… Presley had mentioned that her dad killed our mom’s father because he was a bad man. He must have been the one who had orchestrated that arrangement. I could understand wanting to make good on an arrangement or even someone promised to you, but these images…
“He was stalking her.”
Kingston grabbed another picture. “Not just her…he was watching Dad too. Even before he took over El Peligro.”
I stopped looking when we came across an image of our mom in a bathing suit. That was enough, especially if he’d creeped on her privately.
“But why would he keep these after twenty years?”
My brows cinched in, mirroring my brothers who was trying to work out the same thing.
Henry leaned closer, trying to help. “Do you think he considers the pictures a trophy?”
That was possible, depending on what kind of sick fuck he was. He’d stalked her, so that part was already clear…
“Dad said he’d confirmed Markos was dead…” I said it only loud enough for King and Henry to hear. Both of whom watched me silently. We had to figure out how our dad knew, and what intel he had that we might be able to use, but more than that, we needed to figure out where Markos was if he wasn’t dead.
I entered the manor,and the habitual silence felt suffocating. I wondered if Kingston felt this when he walked inside, or if it was just me.
It was ironic that the tables had turned so violently, and now we were stuck in some sick version of purgatory where we paid for the sins we committed. Each time I felt a memory surface of running through these halls as children, or when I thought I heard her laugh, sorrow would threaten to drown me.
I bypassed the wing closest to where Kyle and his family resided and headed straight for the Eastern side of the manor, where my family was.
“Gio!” Scotty called somewhere behind me, but I ignored him.
“Giovanni!” He tried again, but I wouldn’t be giving that fucker a single moment of my time. Now that Presley wasn’t here, I owed him jack shit.
I was closing in on the front door to our section when Scotty spoke up again, but this time his words stopped me in my tracks.
“She called me this morning.”
I slowly turned around, clenching my jaw. The halls were dimly lit by bronze sconces and a few lamps, but this section near our home was still cast in enough shadow that it made Presley’s great uncle look every inch the villain he’d always been to me and King. Scotty wore a black turtleneck with a pair of black slacks. He had gun holsters over his chest, and his dog, Reaper, trotted next to him with his ears alert.
Scotty stepped closer. “It’s normal for her to call once a week or so. She checks in, always lets me know if there’s anything I need to be informed of.”
Fire ignited in my blood, boiling me from the inside out to hear that she was communicating with him, and not me.
“She never has anything to report other than that she’s happy and Adrian treats her well.” Scotty continued to advance closer.
My chin dipped to my chest because I didn’t want Scotty, of all people, to see the defeat in my eyes. I felt like he’d ordered Reaper to attack me, my heart somewhere torn on the ground.
“Except this morning…” Scotty paused, then came to a stop a few feet away from me.
My eyes lifted, latching onto his, trying to decipher what that meant.
“This morning, she said the ocean was beautiful, but the sky was dark.”
Reaper’s nose nudged at my hand, silently demanding to be acknowledged. As much as Scotty disliked it, his dogs were both soldiers and pets, and they’d been around my brother and me long enough that they were fond of us.
My voice was soft as I inquired, “What does that mean?”
“That means,” Scotty started and then snapped his fingers, ordering Reaper back to his side, “something triggered her there enough that she’s on alert. She’ll be playing double agent until whatever it was that triggered her has either come to a head or stopped. That might mean she’s in danger, or might need back up, either way, I know to be on high alert.”
I heard two more dogs making their way down the hall, their nails clicking along the marble. “Why tell me?”
Scotty smirked, and it was the same gesture he made whenever he witnessed Presley best us in the training ring, or when she’d show us up on her precision with the blade or gun. He was proud of her, but so were King and I. We never cared that she beat us; in fact, we preferred that she did. Scotty was the only person who got a sick satisfaction at seeing his little protégé beat us.
“Just wanted to see if you still cared if she lived or died. You andyour brother talked a big game about taking sides against us, but you’d still do anything for her, wouldn’t you?”
