CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
MATHIAS
The lines of account numbers blur as my mind drifts to Allie.
She’s upstairs in one of the spare bedrooms meeting virtually with her therapist, and I almost wish I’d gone through with my idea of installing a security feed in the room to hear how the session goes. To learn Allie’s unfiltered thoughts and feelings. But broaching her privacy in that way seemed a step too far.
Especially when she’s used to those supposed to care for her, betraying that trust.
So, instead, I lean my head back, stare at the ceiling, and imagine the conversation happening overhead.
“Are Petit's finances boring you?” Luca drawls from his position in the corner of the study. A stack of manila folders rest beside him as he sifts through the older paperwork that Petit hadn’t digitized yet.
“It’s a tangled web. Outside the legitimate business profits and expenses, the money going toward shell companies bounces around so much, it takes forever to find where it lands.”
Maybe I should check on Allie. Make sure the internet connection is strong enough up there. That the video isn’t buffering to death.
“It landed.” Rafe points over my shoulder where an account in Hong Kong is highlighted in yellow. Where’d he come from? “Looks like SY Shipping is the last stop before Petit transfers funds to his Syndicate buddies.” He grabs the mouse and clicks around on the screen. “I recognize this account as one of Sergei Petrov’s.”
Dmitri and Aleksei’s dad.
“We’ve got him. We have proof Louis Petit funded known criminals dealing in weapons, drugs…” Bracing against the desk, grim relief laces my bones.
Finally.
The first domino in our plan to tear down The Syndicate and our fathers is about to fall. After decades of anger and meticulous preparations.
We no longer need to wait for the perfect moment to strike. The evidence necessary for action is right here.
It’s time to make our move.
***
“Do I have to go to this party? It’s not like you’re really taking over as CEO of Petit Enterprises. You’re planning on dismantling the company, right?” Allie asks from her seat on my lap a week later. An episode of the design show she says relaxes her plays in the background.
I playfully swat her ass as the host reveals the couple’s remodeled kitchen. “You’re my date, mon petit ange , so of course, you’re coming.”
Originally, Petit’s death was set in stone. I’d strip his conglomerate to pieces—decimating The Syndicate’s major financier, a hefty blow to their organization—then ensure my bastard father ended up buried six feet deep.
But plans change.
Not every father of the Blackchapel Bastards will get off so easily. Some are destined to die at the hands of their son, but Petit will suffer more behind bars.
He wasn’t meant to live, but the more I studied him, the more I realized how suffocating a jail cell will be for the flamboyant businessman who loves being the center of attention.
With enough condemning evidence to bring Petit to justice, our plan is now in motion. Starting with the hastily organized party celebrating Blackchapel Inc.’s takeover of Petit Enterprises. Lulling my father into a false sense of safety before our meeting the following day.
I haven't told him what it'll entail, but he won't be leaving without handcuffs clamped around his wrists.
“I don’t have anything to wear.”
I chuckle at the pout in her tone. “We’ll be in Paris. The epicenter of fashion. We’ll find you a dress. Now, since you’re feeling sassy enough to try defying me, why don’t I remind you why I’m in control?”
My lips find hers on a gasp as my hardened cock nudges between her ass cheeks, and thoughts of my father, The Syndicate, and the babbling TV fade to dust in the wake of my Allie Angel.