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“How did you get that close?” I demanded, surging to my feet and stalking toward my mother.

“I told you, darling. We made sure we had leverage.” My mother replied dryly. “Now, if you’re quite done with your tantrum, I wanted to tell you the tailor will be here in the morning to measure you for any necessary adjustments to your tux. Your father and I will be busy handling the other arrangements, so we won’t see you again until it’s time to escort you to the chapel.” She turned her back to me, stepped toward the door, and paused. “Don’t think about it, Leighton. If youattack me now, there’s nobody to ensure your sweet Victoria’s head remains intact.”

I clenched my teeth and fisted my hands at my side. My mother clearly still knew precisely how to control me, to keep me from lunging forward and murdering her in the middle of my old bedroom. It took every scrap of willpower to stay rooted in place as I watched her stride confidently out the door. She let the photos drop from her hand to the end table as if they were a parting gift, and then she was gone.

My entire body trembled with the need to commit violence as I stalked over and snatched the pictures. Several seemed to chronicle the days between Rich’s funeral and Joey and I leaving together to check out our territory. Part of me knew they were all takenbeforeCraig had a chance to set up any sort of surveillance system. The rest of me wasn’t willing to take the risk with Victoria’s life that whoever my parents had hired couldn’t access her any longer.

“Fuck it. Being a widower wasn’t on this year’s bingo card, but here we are.” I muttered to myself.

Saying the words out loud seemed to cause a plan to settle in my mind. I’d go through with the sham of a wedding. Killing my bride-to-be in front of her Bratva family would only end with me dead, too. I’d have to wait until we were alone for the wedding night. If I timed things just right, I could off the girl and slip away before anyone knew I was gone. My parents would be left to deal with the fallout of a dead Bratva Princess. Shit, the Russians might even do me a favor and off Alistair and Cicely for me. I couldn’t help the grin that spread across my face. The boys would be proud. I was actuallyplanningfor once.

Planting a sloppy kiss on one of the closer-up photos of Victoria’s face, I strolled back to my bed and plopped down. My stomach rumbled just as I considered how I would entertain myself until I could put my plan into motion.

“Yo, Jeeves!” I called out. “You still in the hall?”

I snorted as the butler moved to stand in my doorway. “Yes, young master. Your mother ordered me to stay nearby in case you needed anything.”

“Don’t call me ‘master’,”

“Of course, young master.”

“Dude, what did I just say?”

The elderly butler jerked back as if I’d slapped him before quickly regaining his composure. “My apologies, Sir. How may I be of assistance?”

“I’m hungry. Go make me a sandwich or something.” I adopted my haughtiest tone and flapped my hand at him in dismissal.

“Yes, Sir. Very good, Sir.” he simpered as he retreated from my room.

His statement that my mother had ordered him to stay nearby was a threat as much as a warning. The man had reported every little thing I’d done to my mother starting the day after she’d murdered Angelica. I couldn’t even take a piss without her knowing how strong and steady the stream was. His reports to her had been directly responsible for a few of my more intense punishments. I wouldn’t be surprised if it were something he said that led to my parents putting me out in some twisted attempt to teach me to control my urges. It would be fun making his life hell for the next few days.

I strolled around the perimeter of my room and then into the ensuite bathroom, determining just how much chain my mother had left me. I could easily access both spaces, which meant I could step into the hallway, though I wouldn’t get far doing so. The sound of metal on metal as I moved had me searching for the anchor point next. Several steps and a few kicks later, I’d pushed my bed aside and stared at a narrow grate bolted to the floor. As I moved closer, the chain slid between theslats, a step away, and links slid out. I was about to start pulling the chain out as I stood over the grate to figure out how far below the chain was secured when I heard footsteps coming down the hall. I shoved my bed back haphazardly and flopped onto my back on the soft mattress just as Alfred appeared in the open doorway.

“I can tell from all the way over here, that sandwich is a travesty.” I snipped, snatching a pillow from the top of my bed and throwing it in his direction. “Make it again, Tweedlepot!”

Alfred bowed, the muscles in his face twitching as if he were fighting the urge to sneer at me. “As you wish, sir.”

The moment the sound of his footsteps disappeared, I started searching my old hiding spots for anything that might work to remove the bolts, keeping the grate under my bed in place. I tore the room apart, tossing old knick-knacks and mementos to the floor, pulling open drawers, and dumping the contents into the ever-growing mess, finding absolutely nothing. My mother must have swept the room and found everything before she had me brought home. Growling in frustration, I slammed the last empty drawer shut as Alfred reappeared in the doorway, startling me.

“Fucking hell, Waddlesby. Warn a man when you’re about to sneak up on him!” I snapped. I looked at the silver serving platter where he’d plated a new sandwich. “And seriously,generic white bread?What do I look like? A fucking soccer mom? Make that shit again, and make itrightthis time!”

“Yes, sir.” he replied tersely, backing out of the room.

I waited until he was out of earshot and moved my bed again. Testing the bolts with my hands was futile, but I had to try anyway. A few attempted twists and tugs, and I was satisfied that my mother had covered all her bases—an unfortunate obstacle to any plans I might have made to escape before the wedding. Putting the bed back, I laid down to think. I couldpractically hear Joey teasing me about it hurting my head as I worked through a real plan to become a widower and get back toMa Petiton my wedding night. All before the consummation, because I may have been a lot of things, but I wasnota fucking cheat.

Alfred returned with a third sandwich, and I took it without a word. An idea popped into my head as he strode toward the open door.

“Yo, Bibblesworth. Pick up this fucking mess.” I demanded, gesturing to the disaster I’d created in my room.

Under normal circumstances, Alfred would have sought out the maids to pick up after me. The fact that he instead bent down and began picking up items off the floor told me I had been correct about him spying on me for my mother. A sinister smile split my face as I watched the older man work. I would make his life hell for the next few days, and I knew just where to start.

“For fuck’s sake, Wrinklebottom! If you’re going to clean, make sure you do it properly. You can’t just put things away all willy-nilly!Fix it,now.”

Chapter Eleven

Craig

After I’d passed off what little information I could pull with my hasty setup, I made my way to the garage to find a ladder. Ian was leaning against the hood of his ‘57 Chevy, finishing the last few bites of a sandwich. His eyes tracked me as I moved to the back wall where his ladder was hung. His footsteps echoed on the concrete floor until he stood beside me. Swatting my hand away with a grunt, he grabbed the ladder and carefully turned to face me. It was clear from his stance that he was waiting for me to tell him where to put it.