Page 4 of Blind Devotion (Letters of Ruin #1)

“Let it go, Maman,” Thibault chimed in. “You would sooner have a chance at convincing a fish than Adrien. I, for one, keep seeing the amuse-bouches from the cocktail buffet go by without tasting a single one, and if I don’t inhale a few soon, this party is going to get a lot bloodier than planned. Come with me?”

“Very well. At least one of my sons knows how to enjoy himself.”

Thibault, the dutiful son, held out his arm for her, glancing back at me with a smirk. He mouthed “ You owe me ” like the little turd he was. Within a few steps, the two of them were swept away by the crowd through the yacht’s salon and lounge.

A shaky sigh of relief escaped me. I threw another glance at the party, my lips pinched together. No one seemed to have noticed. Good.

Nothing stood out. Nothing to cause a stir or a thrill to cut through the monotony of people in designer wear and gleaming jewels. The same boring topics discussed day in and day out on their lips. Nothing dangerous or challenging.

I ducked out for some air. Leaning on the yacht rail, I stared out at the Mediterranean Sea.

The sunlight gleamed off it, a circular reflection of the fiery inferno bouncing among the gentle wash of short waves.

With the southeastern coast of Sardinia to the other side of the boat, my view of the blistering blue sea was unencumbered.

It stretched for kilometers on end, peaceful and yet deadly at the same time, the perfect juxtaposition.

“Something got you lost in thought?” Erel asked as he leaned against the rail beside me, two glasses in hand. His checkered suit jacket really was an eyesore. “Drink?”

I accepted the offered glass, the smell of pastis—anise liquor —and mint flavoring tickling my nose. I downed a swig, relishing the burn that only grew stronger after a deep breath.

Erel took my silence for what it was and didn’t press further. The ability to read people was what made him such a valuable friend. He was also my second-in-command and co-owner of our joint business endeavor, Endgame—a virtual reality arena that served as a front for our hitman organization.

People saw his sharp jawline, blond hair with dark tips, and blue eyes before his charm ever sucked them in. He barely had to say an entire sentence before clients were eating out of the palm of his hand.

“I heard something interesting the other day,” Erel said in a tone meant to pull me into conversation.

I took another sip of my drink and stared out at the sea.

“Oh, come on. You’re not even curious?”

“It’s not the time or the place, Erel,” I said with exasperation. Childhood friend or not, I was in no mood for his games.

“Not even to hear about the Iannellis?”

My hand tightened instinctively around the wooden railing. Erel chuckled.

“You couldn’t be more obvious.”

“You’re a real bastard, you know that?”

“Life’s more fun this way.”

“Careful you don’t die because of it.”

“Would you miss me then?”

“Not on your life.”

He barked a laugh as I waited quietly for him to get over his jollies and tell me the news.

In the last three years, I did my best to avoid anything to do with that family.

We left each other on poor terms almost five years ago, but as long as they stayed on their side of the pond and we De Villiers stayed on ours, we kept our bad blood quiet.

Which meant as long as I could help it, I made no effort to go looking for information on Elio Iannelli, the don of the most prominent California mafia famiglia, his asshole of a son, and his angel of a daughter.

When information came to me freely, though, I ate that shit up and savored every detail as if it were the finest foie gras served with fig jam and a chilled glass of Monbazillac.

I tapped my fists against the railing with impatience. The fucker just cackled more.

“Spit it out.”

“You sure you want to know?”

Yes. No. Probably better for all concerned that I didn’t.

“Trouble?” I asked.

“Doubt it.”

“Will it affect business?”

“Maybe.”

“ Putain , Erel. I don’t have the patience for this. Merde !”

“You steal the fun out of everything.”

“Maybe I just have better things to do than play games after last night.”

The high from ending Bogdani’s reign, self-appointed as the Dreq, aka the Albanian devil, should have boosted my mood for days to come. Thirty minutes of socializing and one matchmaking conversation with my mother crashed it to oblivion, leaving me jittery and volatile.

“Funds posted to the account.”

“Good.

“At least he’s dead. Wish I’d done it myself.”

Me too. His death was far too quick and painless. It hadn’t been enough to calm my unrest by a long shot.

“Let me know of the next interesting request that posts in Endgame.”

“You know—” He tapped a nail to his glass. “I love a good kill as much as the next person, but it doesn’t ease much of anything in here or here.”

His finger pointed to his heart, then his head.

“Hitman, business owner, and second to the Ca?d not enough for you? You add psych in there too?”

Erel clicked his tongue. “You should call her.”

“You know I can’t. It’s done. Finished.” I gazed back out at the blinding sea in a silent dismissal.

“If you really thought that, you wouldn’t stick to paid escorts. I don’t think your father knew how miserable his last order would make you.”

“I’m not, Erel. Never have been, never will. Certainly not because of a slip of a girl who was too young for me anyhow.”

“Not anymore, she isn’t, but whatever you say. You’re the boss.” I felt him staring at me, needling for another reaction. He wasn’t going to get one. “Damn all, fine. You’re no fun like this. Elio’s dead, about five months ago.”

I tried my hardest to feign disinterest, not moving an inch, not breathing.

“Killed by his own son, if you can believe it, and that ass is somehow holding the Iannellis together despite it. Call her. She needs you.”

“No, she doesn’t.”

“Her mom’s dead, too, Adrien.”

That caught my attention. “How?”

“Committed suicide a couple of months before Elio was killed. Persetta hasn’t stepped foot outside their family home since then.

Nobody has heard from her. Nobody has seen her.

As far as my information goes, she didn’t attend either funeral.

Over half a year of locking herself up in grief.

You might never be able to be with her, but that doesn’t mean you can’t help her through this. ”

“That. Is. Enough.” I refused to open that door again. I wouldn’t. I couldn’t.

Erel settled beside me, joining me in my placid stare at waves that went to and fro with no defined purpose except to be. We drank. We listened to the muddled peaks and plunges of frivolous conversations in the living space at our backs.

A clonk against the port side hull of the boat near the stern broke the monotony. Our heads snapped in the direction of the sound. Again, there was another pointed thwack along the hull, closer this time.

Without a word, the two of us stalked toward the sound.

My men, registered as bodyguards for the sake of the authorities, stepped out from their positions against the glass windows encircling the indoor dining area, hands upon their holsters.

My hand itched to grip my own guns locked in the armored vault below deck. All I had was my pocketknife.

With politicians and the upper echelons of society eating up my generosity on my yacht, all illegal firearms were safely stored far away from prying eyes.

The sacrifices I made for the pretense of perceptions.

Tonight, I was an impeccable law-abiding French citizen.

A joke, really—everyone here was aware of my family’s unsavory business activities—but impressions and status made the obscenely wealthy overlook the obvious.

“See anything?” Erel whispered.

I shook my head. One of my guards bent over the railing, gun poised in front of him. He signaled us over with the opposite hand as he lowered his gun.

“Just debris, sir. Nothing else.”

I followed his gaze over. A fragment of waterlogged lacquered wood floated near the hull of the boat. With another wave, it collided against the hull with a loud thunk. Like he said, debris.

“Have someone fish that out before it causes a dent.”

“Of course, sir.”

Erel joined me at the railing. “I don’t see where it could have come from. Kulmi perhaps?”

There was nothing on the horizon except for blue sea, a few clouds, and the sun. Not even the birds flew this far out.

“Let’s check in with the captain in case they heard distress signals.”

“And what? Race to their rescue?” Erel questioned on a snort.

“With this lot”—I gestured my head toward the guests in the salon and dining rooms— “any publicity—”

A screech cut me off.

“The stern,” Erel said.

The four of us took off at a jog.