Chapter 7
Hunter
She said first thing in the morning. So I reach her doorstep at seven.
“Don’t look at me like that. She must be sleeping. You’re the only nightmare of a human who doesn’t. We’re still early.”
“Shut up,” I grit out.
He rolls his eyes, folding the sleeves of his brown shirt. It’s cold outside at this hour, but not enough. Canada is far colder than this. I’m also wearing only a gray-blue dress shirt and dark blue pants.
The guard comes out of his cabin and runs us through a full security screening using multiple devices before finally letting us in.
From the entry gate to the house door, there’s a pathway of about twenty meters, with gardens on either side. Her house is similar to other houses in this area, including ours. Each one has the same size garden, the same size house. Must be part of the city’s overall design.
Before we reach it, the front door opens, and her dogs come running straight to me.
“These dogs have strange taste,” Logan deadpans under his breath.
I pat their heads, walking with them toward the door, where she’s standing in a pale silk T-shirt and shorts—her sleep clothes from last night.
A long lemon-colored cardigan over her shoulders.
Her face glows golden under the morning sun, a small smile lifting her lips that doesn’t reach her eyes.
Even at this early hour, her eyes look tired, deep bruise-like circles beneath them.
We reach her. I draw in a deep breath of her rose scent.
I want to dip my face to her neck and inhale her deeper.
One of the hundreds of things I want to do to her when she’s in front of me.
Some of them are easy to suppress. Others are damn near impossible to keep caged, like the urge to trace the softness of her cheeks, the outline of her lips, with my fingers, my mouth, my tongue.
I want to run my fingers through her silky brown hair, untangle the mess she’s made of it on her head, the mess she came to see us in without bothering to comb.
It doesn’t make her any less beautiful. I’d trade everything I have to see her like this every morning, even though nothing I possess comes close to its worth, and that includes my whole being and soul.
“Good morning, Miss Elowen. The world is really small,” Logan chimes. I don’t look at him. My eyes refuse to leave the sight giving me this high of sacred serenity.
Elowen looks at him. “Indeed. Good morning—Logan, right? And please, just Elowen.”
Logan clears his throat, and I know it’s meant for me. I reluctantly look at him.
He smiles at me, then at her. “So this is my brother, Hunter, the one I was telling you about. And now you know him personally.”
He gives me a look—greet her.
I look back at her. The peace Logan snatched away returns instantly, spreading through the black matter my heart is made of.
“Good morning.”
She smiles. “Good morning.” She moves inside the house. “Please come in.”
We follow her inside. I take a quick look around her place.
It speaks of her. Soft pastel hues wash over the space, pale blush pink on the walls, cream-colored curtains filtering the morning light into a warm glow.
An ivory rug spreads across the polished wood floor.
From where I stand just inside the front door, I can see the kitchen and dining room opening to the left, the living room before me, and two doors at the top of the stairs, one of them, I know, leads to her bedroom.
The dogs enter behind us and settle near the couches. The gray one keeps his eyes fixed on me.
“Where are the pups?” Logan asks.
“They’re both adopted,” she replies.
Logan sits on the couch, making himself totally at home. “None left for me. I’m hurt.” He starts in with his drama. I glare at him, but he ignores me, keeping that same stupid, childish expression.
“I’m sorry,” Elowen chuckles. And I turn my attention back to her smiling face.
She meets my eyes. “Would you like something to drink?”
I shake my head.
“I’d love a cup of coffee,” Logan answers.
“He won’t.” I cut him off, glaring at him. “You’ve had enough caffeine for the day.”
I have no problem with him drowning himself in coffee, I’d pour more down his throat myself if it meant he’d shut his mouth, but I have many problems with him asking her to make him a cup.
Most specifically, sending her away to the kitchen.
I’m not going to get the chance to watch her all day, it’ll be just a few hours at most, and not a second of that will I let this bastard waste.
He looks at me, grins, and then turns back to Elowen. “My brother is really caring.”
“That’s sweet. If you want anything else—”
He waves his hand. “Nothing. Let’s get to work.”
She settles onto the couch adjacent to mine. She’s close enough that the air around me diffuses with the scent of roses.
I slide the folder toward her. “This is the contract I’ve prepared. You can discuss it with your lawyers and let me know what you think.”
She takes the folder. Her slender fingers work the button open, her hands are beautiful, like everything about her.
An image flashes through my mind, her playing the piano, her slender fingers moving across the black and white keys.
From that night, I know she plays beautifully.
Will she ever play for me someday? I want her to.
There’s an intense longing for her music deep within me.
She opens the folder and begins reading.
I stare at her while she does. Her lashes aren’t very long, not very dense, yet perfect on her doe eyes and round face.
Her nose is small, with a rounded tip and a straight bridge.
And her lips, they look pale, bloodless, but I have a feeling that’s not their natural color, just the way I know her skin isn’t supposed to be this pale.
Logan says I’ve got some issues with my brain, that my obsession with her isn’t normal.
Sometimes I think maybe I do have some issue, with all the dreams I’ve had of her, how has she latched onto my mind in such a way that I can’t get her out, not in the day and not at night?
Not that I want to, when I’ve never felt more alive than I do now.
But I want to understand why it is so. One coincidence is that I feel this way about her.
Another is my similarity to her lover. The third is my blank mind, no memory of my past.
Is it possible that I’m him?
Yeah, sure, motherfucker. You’re the man this woman loves, go tell her. No one would believe that nonsense. Even I find it bizarre.
A smile touches her lips when she reaches the third page.
But I could lie to her. Tell her I’m Salvario, that I lost my memory and someone changed my face. I’d have her. All of her. I’d still search for Salvario, and if I find him, I’ll kill him. She’d never know I’m not him.
She looks up, meeting my eyes—eyes that haven’t left her face for a second. A flicker of discomfort crosses her face, then she nods.
“I agree to the terms.” The smile comes again. “I’m glad you added the clause that you’ll protect the people and this city.”
It’s her city, of course I’ll protect it.
She takes the pen from the holder and starts signing it.
“You should also consult your lawyer,” Logan advises.
She looks at him. “Actually, I can’t. My family can’t know about this deal.”
Once she signs the contract, she slides it back to me.
“Alright, now that the papers are signed, let’s talk about the man. Tell us everything about Salvario,” Logan moves on.
“His full name is Salvario De Falco. His father was the Don of the Camorra—Corrado De Falco. His mother’s name was Alba. She was raised in England, then forced into marriage by the Don.”
“Where are his parents?” Logan asks.
“My uncle killed his father when Salvario was nine years old, after my aunt was kidnapped by one of the capos working under his father. Then his uncles and other men of the Camorra tortured him and his mother. She took her own life soon after.”
“Shit,” Logan breathes. “Sorry.”
She nods. “Years later, he killed all of them, and he’s the—” She looks between us, hesitating.
“Don’t worry, Elowen. Your secrets are safe with us. It’s written in the contract,” Logan assures her.
“He’s the Butcher of Naples.”
That makes sense—why she’s in this city, away from her family. She’s cleaning up after that bastard.
Logan doesn’t try to hide his shock. It stays on his face for a long moment, making Elowen uncomfortable.
“Is there anyone from his family still alive?” I ask, shifting the air.
She shakes her head. “The only family he has is Antonio, but they’re not related by blood. He’s something of a foster father to him.”
“Where is he?”
“He’s in England. They used to live in Greenland, but after Salvario went missing, Antonio moved to a small village in England where Salvario’s mother used to live, near London.”
“Wait—what’s this guy Antonio’s history with Salvario’s mother?” Logan perks up. This question has nothing to do with finding Salvario, but Logan is a bitch for juicy gossip.
“He loved her.”
“Ahh, that’s why he took him under his care.”
“What do you know about his work?” I cut in.
“He had an airline business, which is under Antonio’s name in public. Salvario always kept himself hidden from the world, so you won’t find anything under his name.”
“How did you meet him?” Logan leans in.
“He kidnapped me.”
Logan’s face changes again. I have the urge to punch the motherfucker for making her uncomfortable with his expressions.
“He wanted revenge on my uncle, so he kidnapped me by mistake. Then he sent me back to my family. We kept our relationship hidden from them, until he tried to kill my uncle and then attempted suicide.” Her face grows paler.
“That same day, their mansion in Greenland was attacked, someone nearly killed Antonio and took Salvario.”
Silence falls over the room. Her gaze locks on her hands in her lap.
“My family has been trying to find him, but there’s been no success.” Her gaze holds mine. Pleading. Tired. Desperate. “Please find him.”
“We’ll find him,” I vow, only to chase the sadness from her face.
“Can you give us a photo of him?” Logan asks.
She nods, then gets up and leaves for upstairs.