Page 2 of Taken By the Kingpin
I make my way through the well-dressed people discussing the position of Mars and the ascension of Venus. I understand snippets, but I’m still learning about astrology. I’m not sure if I believe all of it, but the idea that there’s a predetermined future I just need to be in the right place to grab is appealing. And that people can be understood and put into neat categorisations. Virgo. Leo. Pisces. Your personality mapped out by your time of birth. I like the insight into people who I otherwise find confusing.
It takes me a while to find Priscilla and all the time I feel someone watching. Him.
The observation is a warm hand on the small of my back. Supportive. Comforting. Pushing me towards him. But he doesn’t approach.
My boss is in the middle of a gaggle of women laughing about valentine’s day and Scorpios, which I don’t get but pretend to chuckle anyway. I creep in, trying to catch Priscilla’s eye.
When she eventually notices, she gestures impatiently. “Where have you been?”
“Sorry—”
“Pay attention now you’re finally here.” She rattles off a list of appointments and I cram them into her online calendar via my phone. When I get to work tomorrow morning I will handwrite each item into her beautiful desk diary. Priscilla prefers the analogue versions of everything, even though it was my efforts on social media that gave her this big break. I still can’t persuade her to do so much as one post herself. I do it all, and Priscilla, despite her initial scepticism, is gratifyingly dedicated to her online followers.
Once I’m caught up, I stand at the fringes of the group, listening and taking notes.
I say listening. I should be. But my mind won’t focus. All my attention is on the little hairs on the back of my neck.
He’s watching.
I turn occasionally, but I don’t see him through the mass of elegantly garbed bodies.
If Sebastian knows who I am, he knows my worth. Not in money, he has plenty of that. He’s a billionaire. But there is value to the ancient Carter family name, despite how long I’ve been gone.
I should be scared. A man I know to be a killer, a ruthless mafia kingpin who takes whatever he wants, is stalking me like I’m his prey.
He doesn’t frighten me. The sensation of being watched warms me everywhere. It’s the coat I didn’t bring tonight, this feeling he’s there. It’s the blaze of a fire on chilled hands. I think if I slipped, or something happened, he’d notice. Would he be at my side in a second? Crazy as it sounds, I almost want to test him as we move into the dining room for the meal.
But then, why would he care about the girl he rejected for being too young, and everyone now thinks is dead? If he had demanded we wait until I was old enough to marry, would my father have accepted that, and not sold me off to Fletcher at thirteen? Back then, Laurent mafia needed the authority of Carter, and he could have achieved that with a long engagement. Instead, he murdered and gamed his way to power.
I guess we’ll never know, but the possibility fuels a surge of righteous anger that obliterates any softer feelings. He’s probably looking out of guilt. Shock. Horror at having to acknowledge the little lost princess.
Apparently my family claimed I was missing, presumed kidnapped and killed. Not good PR for it to get out that they practically sold me to Fletcher. And Laurent is their ally.
I might have looked at his picture in a magazine, but that doesn’t mean I’m naive enough to think I wanthim.
It takes me a little time to check the seating plan and find Priscilla and my table. I guide her to it as everyone else has taken their seats. She’s instructing me to post a photo of her I took with the Sagittarius constellation banner onto each of the social media sites and I’m nodding as we weave through the round tables, my bare elbow brushing on jackets draped over the backs of chairs and the swishy skirt of my dress catching on handbags. She really is peak Sagittarius.
I look up when I press submit on the photo to her account, and lurch to a halt.
Because at our table, grey eyes calm and observant, sits Sebastian Laurent.
2
SEBASTIAN
When our eyes meet, she jolts anew with recognition, her violet-blue eyes widening just as they did when she saw me from the top of the stairs. I manage a bland smile, but only because I’ve had time to compose myself.
Dressed in a demure but clingy black silk dress, her slender frame is too beautiful for words. Her hair is dyed that now-familiar toffee blonde and swept up in a neat chignon at the nape of her neck.
Juliet Carter was born to be my bride.
I must have her. I’ve always known, even when I lied to myself that I could keep away, that I would rearrange the heavens for us to be together. The connection is instant and undeniable.
Juliet Carter ismine.
But now she’s Jeanette Capelle and can’t be anything to do with me, however much I want her. She’s out of this life and I will respect that.
“What are you doing here?” She slides into the chair next to me, gaze flicking between her name setting and my face.
