Chapter 27
CRISTIAN
“Cristian,” Chantel whimpers, tipping her head back against my shoulder as the hot water sluices over us.
“Sore, gattina?” I slide my fingers between her thighs, groaning when I feel my cum leaking out of her.
“If you fuck me one more time, I won’t be able to walk. And I definitely won’t be able to dance.”
A current of tension pulls at my muscles, and she doesn’t miss it.
“What’s going on with you?” She turns in my arms. “You still haven’t told me what happened last night, and you’ve been distracting me with sex.”
I let out a rough exhalation, bracing for the conversation I’ve been avoiding.
I can’t honorably say I’ve spent so much time inside her as a means of distraction. It was a selfish need to satiate this clawing hunger that’s already bordering on starvation, because I’m well aware there’s an inevitable cold front headed our way.
“We were able to salvage some things in your house.” I start with the good news. “Most of your bedroom survived.”
She swallows, glancing up at me nervously. “And the living room?”
“Everything’s gone.”
She closes her eyes as quiet devastation moves through her.
“I have your passports,” I add, getting that out of the way.
“What?” She blinks up at me in horror.
“They’re safe,” I assure her, leaving out the part that she won’t need them.
“How is that possible if everything else—” Her face pales. “You already had them.”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“Since we installed the security on your house.”
Silence lingers while she processes that, and as much as I want her to explain why she had them, I can already see that she won’t.
“The house manager is sorting through your clothes,” I tell her. “Anything that needs dry cleaning will be sent out, and the rest will be laundered before she puts it away.”
“What do you mean she’ll put it away?” Her brows draw together. “I can’t keep them here. I’ll have to find another place in the city, so I’m close to work—”
Her expression falters as she searches my eyes and concludes where this is heading.
“I told Viktor you’re taking a leave of absence.”
Her breathing shallows, and a visible tremor runs through her as she steps back, creating distance between us.
It throws me off, because I anticipated anger and a probable argument, but I didn’t expect this kind of anxiety.
“Did you plan this?” she rasps.
“Did I plan what?”
“The fire.” Her gaze darts toward the door. “I don’t have my phone. Am I…locked in here?”
That allegation lands like a physical blow, and every muscle in my body goes rigid as the truth reveals itself in her eyes. I’ve seen that look too many times in men I’ve interrogated over the years. It’s the terror of exposure.
The familiar echo of Angelo’s suspicion gnaws at me as I study the woman who’s burrowed so deep inside me, I can’t cut her out.
I’ve known she was lying to us about her identity from the beginning. But it never crossed my mind that whatever she was hiding could be so dangerous, she’d genuinely fear what I might do to her if I uncovered it.
I’ve been patient, convinced she would come to trust me on her own. Now, with the sting of her accusation hanging between us, I realize she never will.
“Your phone is on the nightstand in the bedroom, and you’re free to move around the estate.” I step out of the shower. “And to answer your first question, no, I didn’t plan this. I just don’t want to fucking bury you.”
Unsurprisingly, she doesn’t respond.
“Do you have anything else on those passports yet?”
“Not really.” Romeo glances up at me from his computer.
“What about facial recognition?”
“Dead end.”
“How is that possible? You can usually find anyone.”
“I have a few working theories.” He leans back in his chair and swivels to face me.
“Such as?”
“Dancers usually start training at a young age, but that generation didn’t have the digital footprint we do now. If recordings exist, they’re probably archived on DVDs.”
“And the other options?”
“Piecing together what we know, I’d bet money she’s associated with another outfit.
She wouldn’t have access to IDs like that without connections.
So it’s entirely plausible that her public exposure was protected before it even had a chance to exist. It’s also possible that whoever helped her with the IDs scrubbed anything tying her to her old identity.
That makes the most sense, considering they went to all the trouble of curating passable backgrounds. ”
“I need something, Romeo.” I scrape a hand over my face.
“There is one other thing.” He turns back to his computer. “It’s another dead end, but it’s something that ties her to her old identity.”
“What?”
He opens a file and enlarges it.
“When she applied at Black Velvet, she submitted a printed reference from a competition choreographer.”
“You think it’s real?”
“I think she chose this reference for a reason,” he says. “It would be easy to change the first name, and she probably knew the choreographer wouldn’t be able to offer up specifics. You’ll understand why when you hear it.”
He plays the recording on his computer, and we listen to it together.
The beginning of the conversation is Romeo verifying that he’s speaking to Zara Kessler. He introduces himself as a talent agency recruiter who’s interested in representing Chantel St. James, and explains that Chantel submitted a reference letter from her.
Zara initially insists she won’t be much help. She’s worked with thousands of dancers, and she’s terrible with names. She doubts a photo will jog her memory, but after Romeo sends her one, her tone shifts.
She goes on to say she does actually remember Chantel because she had an unbelievable stage presence. She mentions that Chantel stood out for her technical ability and how quickly she picked up routines.
Zara admits she was surprised by Chantel’s talent, stating that she didn’t expect it from a girl like that.
When Romeo asks her why, Zara explains that, offstage, Chantel was withdrawn.
She says there was always a man with her, but Zara didn’t think he was her father, and she got the sense that Chantel wasn’t allowed to socialize.
Romeo asks Zara if she recalls which competition Chantel participated in, telling her he’d like to review the footage. But Zara tells him that she’s traveled all over the country for the last three decades, and she couldn’t even begin to guess.
After the recording comes to an end, Romeo meets my gaze. We’re no closer to finding out where she came from, but it seems to confirm our suspicions. If Chantel is associated with another outfit, they won’t look too kindly on a rival claiming one of their own.
“Angelo won’t be happy about this,” Romeo remarks.
“He doesn’t need to know right now. Not until we’re certain.”
Romeo raises a brow, and I shoot him a look.
“Like you have room to talk. I’m sure I don’t need to remind you how many times you went rogue when it came to Gabi.”
“Enough said.” He smirks. “It was worth it.”
“I want to throw everything we’ve got at this,” I tell him. “And I need you to keep an eye on her while I’m at work. I don’t want Mariella sneaking her off the island.”
Romeo nods, and I consider one other potential lead before I go.
“She has a music box from her mother.”
“Send me some pictures.” He shrugs. “I’ll see what I can find.”