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I sense that while Torelli might be an Aurelian in flesh and blood, he’s really a reptile beneath that skin.

He looks us up and down, before murmuring:

“Maybe youaren’tLaw Enforcement, then. I doubt any of those bastards could stand there without immediately trying to rip my throat out with their bare hands murdering my triad.”

Oh, we’re close to that, you bastard.

Torelli continues: “Of course, if you tried that, you’d be dead before you’d get half way across the room.” He gestures to the chairs in front of his huge desk. “Now, let’s talk business, shall we? Why don’t you sit down?”

His dead eyes flicker across to Allie – looking her up and down and licking his lips hungrily.

“That’s a pretty little slut you’ve got there. She’s your type, I presume? Strong and curvy?”

My hands nearly ball into fists at the leering disrespect he shows our Fated Mate – but I must resist my urge to teach this bastard some respect.

Remember, this is just like any other undercover assignment, Daccia. Maintain your cover!

"Get down!" Kitos barks at Allie in a rough tone – as if he’s addressing a dog. Allie immediately sinks down to the ground. I hate to see her humiliated like this, but we need to keep up appearances – and there’s no way we’d have trusted her to stay alone at the hotel.

I take a seat in one of the chairs, opposite Torelli’s desk.

"She'sexactlymy type,” I growl. “I didn't see too many girls like her out on the floor. Do you have anything similar?"

Anything, not anyone. As if these girls are objects, not living people.

I study Torelli’s face – looking into his cold, dead eyes for any clue that he’s seen a girl exactly like Allie before. I know how similar the two sisters look.

However, his eyes stay dead and empty. If hehasseen Allie’s sister, he’s not giving that knowledge away.

Instead, Torelli peers across his desk toward our kneeling mate. I hate that his gaze can even touch her. It makes my skin crawl. He’s unworthy to even look at my mate.

Maybe I’ll take his eyes from him, when this is all over.

Torelli keeps scanning us. “Why are you wearing glasses?”

"We took some hits en route,” I try to sound nonchalant about it. “Space-pirates. The area is crawling with them. They ruptured some systems in our ship and we got coolant gas in the eyes.” I snort theatrically. “Fucking painful.”

“I’m sure,” Torelli breathes quietly.

He didn’t take the bait, so I press him further.

“You know anything about the pirates in this area? We want revenge."

Torelli licks his lips. It’s the first time his body language hasn’t seemed artificial.

“Revenge is not usually a profitable endeavor,” the crime boss muses. “I have no interest in unprofitable endeavors.”

Then, his cold eyes narrow.

“In fact, you’re starting to sound alotlike a cop.”

I don’t respond. In many conversations like this, the man who speaks first loses.

Instead, I keep my eyes trained on his. Torelli narrows his eyes slightly, and continues:

“You know, Law Enforcement doesn’t have any jurisdiction out this far – and I sure as hell don’t have an interstellar warrant on my head.”

That’s true – he doesn’t have a warrant. There’s no record of Torelli, or his crimes. I don’t know if he ever had a triad, and I can’t confirm his boast that he murdered them. In every way, this mysterious Aurelian is an enigma.