Page 4 of Corrupted Queen

“Make sure they don’t hurt her,” I say sternly.

Alexis already hates me, but if anything happens to Clara, she’s just as likely to burn down my mansion the second I bring her back here.

“I’ve warned the men not to harm a hair on Clara’s head,” Vito replies. “Though from their initial report, it seems like she’s doing a good enough job destroying herself without help.”

I wave dismissively. “That is not my concern. Let me know the second Alexis is in custody.”

Vito nods and leaves me.

I tip my head back and study the cornice. Dentil blocks give way to elaborate grapevines, whose leaves lift from the ceiling as though, at any moment, a breeze could dislodge one and send it drifting down. This room has always been a favorite of mine. The oversized lacquered oak table, with its many leather scroll-back chairs, makes it ideal for dinners or meetings, and it swims with light from the long bank of windows along the south side.

The one downside is that without the benefit of other people, this room feels painfully empty. It eclipses me with its hollowness.

I finish my drink and lift out of the chair. My legs burn where the bullets ripped through skin and muscle, and I wince. Once I start walking, the pain begins to ease, though it flares up again when I climb the stairs.

I turn down the hall and head for my office. That is the only place in the house that hasn’t felt empty since Alexis left. She and Harry took up so little space physically, yet it feels like their departure has left a crater the size of Texas.

I remember waking up from surgery after my showdown with Andrew Walsh and the feeling of peace that washed over me, knowing that Alexis and Harry were safe. He held her captive for three agonizing days, and now that I had her back, I was never going to let anything happen to her again.

And then Vito informed me that Alexis had escaped with Harry, and it felt like being shot all over again.

I have spent the past month tracking Alexis’ movements and trying to head her off, but she always slips from my grasp. At the same time, I have been negotiating for territory and trying to broker a peace with Andrew Walsh’s son, Patrick. It has not been easy. Patrick understands the cost of his father’s war more than most, though from what I understand, there was no love lost between them.

That being said, I did put a bullet between his father’s eyes. That tends to brew bad blood.

I have just opened my laptop and started to sink into the familiar rhythm of work when there is a knock on my door.

“Come in.”

Vito enters with a strange, pinched expression.

I sigh. “I take it the extraction did not go well.”

“I don’t know how she keeps doing it,” Vito complains. “I would question Gio’s abilities, but ever since she slipped his grasp at the hospital, I have never seen him so determined to succeed.”

I slam the lid of my laptop closed and grit my teeth. “Go,” I order. “Tell Gio and Angelo that if she escapes again, there will be consequences.”

He nods and leaves.

Why are you running, Alexis?

This question has plagued me every day. Our relationship was tense in the week leading up to her abduction, but I rescued her. I sacrificed myself in her place. I could have easily died that night, and now I have three painful reminders of that fact in my shoulder and both legs. But do I get even an ounce of gratitude? No.

I miss Harry. I never gave much thought to having kids before he came into my life, but now I can’t picture my life without him. His laugh is an instant stress reliever. I loved watching him discover the world, the look of wonder that seemed permanently etched on his features.

I miss Alexis, too, but then I think about how she manipulated my feelings to get behind my defenses and snoop through my things, and I try to push down any emotions I have for her.

Even so, I worry about them both.

I am just about to open my laptop and get back to work when my phone rings. It’s Antonio, informing me that he’s brought the bomber and they’re now in the cellar waiting for me. I thank him and tell him I will be right down.

Though the bombing was bad, interrogating the culprit will be a welcome distraction from the failed capture of Alexis. I rise from my chair and massage the muscles in my legs a little before making my way down to the cellar.

Antonio is waiting there with a couple of guards, and they have already strapped the bomber to a chair in the center of the room. Antonio is passing a knife back and forth between his beefy hands, and he hands it to me when I reach him.

“His name is Ian Smith,” Antonio tells me.

“Ian Smith.” I take the knife and walk to the prisoner, lifting his chin with the flat of the blade. “I don’t know if you’ve been living under a rock, Ian, but Patrick Walsh and I have called a truce. He is going to be very upset with you for bombing my store.”

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