Page 31 of Savage Roses

Though the two were close and she’s seemed upset since Stefania’s passing, there’s no telling what her true motives are.

Still, the photo album is an asset. So is the knowledge about Stefania’s cell phone.

There’s just one problem: if it’s at Lucius's summer home, then that means I’ll have to find a way to infiltrate the premises in order to access it and find the contact she claims can point me in the right direction.

Solnishko.

* * *

The day speeds by. I’m locked into more work. Another deceptive scheme I’m cooking up to test Lucius as I pursue my latest lead thanks to Florina, and more business operations at the club. The evening rolls around with some light drizzle as I’m riding my bike to the compound and entering the loft.

Delphine’s waiting on me.

I shuck my leather jacket off and toss my keys on the kitchen counter.

I know this Delphine—sitting by the spot near the window, her tablet in her lap as she pretends to read but really spends her time overthinking, nibbling on her bottom lip. She wants to talk.

I’ll help her out by kicking things off.

“Busy day?”

“You can say that.”

“Dinner?”

“Not hungry,” she says.

I can’t help the grin that starts curving at my lips. Delphine’s such a creature of habit I can practically predict her responses before she says them. As I move through the loft, cutting over from the space by the door into the living room, she watches me. Her brows are drawn close, her eyes a dark, pensive abyss as she analyzes the thousand and one scenarios she’s considered in her head.

Whatever it is that’s on her mind, she’s already thought about it enough for the both of us. Now she’s simply deciding how she wants to tell me about it.

I drop onto the couch with a relieved sigh, my body language open and relaxed. Then I glance over at her, my expression the same.

What? Something on your mind?

We communicate well enough without words that she understands the look. She takes me up on my cue and seizes the chance.

“You’re not going to like this,” she starts.

I pause, letting a second go by. “If that’s how you’re opening… it must be pretty bad.”

“I’m being honest,” she says, raising her chin defiantly. “Because I could’ve gone behind your back and done it without you knowing. But I want you to know. I want your support in this… or at least for you to know it’s important to me.”

“Phi, what is it you’re talking about?” I sit up, no longer in the mood to relax and recline.

She moves over to the sofa and joins me on the cushion next to mine. She’s styled her curls away from her face, in one of those giant puffs at the back of her head, which I like, because it allows me to see every feature, every birthmark.

Her whole beautiful face.

As she takes her seat, she folds her hands in her lap, a determined air about her. It’s then I notice she’s holding her iPhone with an email open on her screen.

I take the hint and ease the phone out of her hand so I can read what it says.

It’s an invitation—Ernest Adams’ invitation to a ‘soiree’ hosted by the Neptune Society.

“Phi, where did you get this?”

“I’m tracking my father. I’m spying on him.”

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