Page 23 of Immoral (Park Avenue Kings #3)

DIMITRI

T HE SECOND I shut the bedroom door behind me, my face fell.

I glanced at where my guards lingered in the hallway, raised a finger to my lips, and shook my head.

They fell back, not following after me as I bypassed the elevator and took the stairs instead, giving Benoit enough time to dress and follow me.

Because he would be following, if my hunch was right. I’d given him just enough information regarding my destination without showing my entire hand, which meant if Benoit was doing what I thought he was, he’d be too curious to resist trailing me.

Part of me hoped I was wrong about him, that my paranoia had gone off the rails this time. But too much was adding up, and I didn’t like the sum of those parts.

Once I got to the ground floor, I paused in the lobby and pulled the leather gloves from my coat pocket. I scanned the room as I put them on, memorizing the faces of those lingering in case any of them were Benoit’s co-conspirators.

Then I pulled the hood of my jacket over my head and headed out into the cold night. It was strange not to feel the eyes of my guards watching me, but this was something I needed to do on my own. No interference, just the two of us—Benoit and me.

The night was relatively quiet as I made my way through the streets of Venice, walking purposefully but not as quickly as I normally would. I kept my hands in the pockets of my coat, not wanting my balled fists to tip anyone off to my mood.

It wasn’t long before I felt it. A stare. Someone behind me watching, following, keeping far enough back that I couldn’t see their reflection in the windows or catch them out of my periphery.

God fucking dammit.

I should’ve seen it sooner, but Benoit—or Gabriele, or whatever his real name was—was so thoroughly believable: charming, handsome, seemingly carefree, but just oblivious enough not to sound any alarms. Add in an undeniably sexy body and it was easy to see why anyone would fall under his spell.

Hell, some dumb bastard would even shell out millions for the fucking privilege.

I clenched my teeth so hard pain shot through my jaw, but I kept the domes of St. Mark’s Basilica in my sights.

All day I’d had niggling thoughts, stirred up after the stranger in the club insisted that Benoit was Gabriele.

It brought up other times I’d pushed his behavior to the back of my mind.

The different languages, explained in such a flippant way.

That he was a dancer. He had to know how to charm his way around in different countries.

Bullshit.

God, I felt like such a fucking idiot, one blinded by a pretty face and a spectacular ass. That was so not me, but apparently when it came to Benoit I’d let down more than my damn pants. I’d let down every guard I kept in place, and all because he showed some interest.

It was pathetic. I was pathetic, apparently so hard up that I’d paid for a literal spy to sleep beside me.

At least, that was what I suspected Benoit to be. He hadn’t killed me yet, so that ruled out his being an assassin—and he’d had several opportunities to put a knife to my throat when I’d passed out beside him after using his body all night.

So he was here to collect something. Information on me, my meetings, my organization?

He’d been particularly curious about our itinerary that first night in Prague, looking over the map, brushing off Omar’s concerns and even convincing me to brush them off too.

But he’d clearly been looking for more than the next stop on his paid vacation—he’d been looking for intel, and I’d given it to him.

So how had he pulled it off? Secret cameras? Mics? I’d had his luggage thoroughly checked and been sure to check him myself, so he must’ve been working with some pretty high-end tech. That led me to believe there was someone bigger behind this. Someone providing the latest and greatest equipment.

But who? Maybe the Redwater Syndicate?

A red haze of fury clouded my vision as I turned onto a narrow street and headed toward a set of stairs, the feeling of someone watching and following me ever present.

What a fool I’d been. If this had been anyone else, any of my men, who’d brought a spy into our midst, there’d be dire consequences.

But it hadn’t been. It’d been me, the boss , and no matter how much I’d enjoyed Benoit, it had to come to an end—and so did he.

I sidestepped a couple with their arms entwined, out on a nightly stroll, and thought of the night Benoit had cuddled up to me at the Christmas markets. It felt like months ago, not days, standing in the snow and watching his face light up when I bought him that vintage mirror?—

My feet faltered as that night came back to me in vivid clarity—more specifically, the lead-up to that night. Benoit had been so adamant we go, almost pushy, betting me over a game of chess, and damn if that beautiful distractor hadn’t gotten his way.

So who had he really been there for? Certainly not me.

And that made my anger boil up all over again. Because while I was furious he’d lied to me, the idea he’d been fucking me and then meeting up with someone else right under my nose made me close to psychotic.

I wanted to strangle him and demand answers.

The closer I got to what I’d told him was my destination, the quicker my pace.

It was a good thing I’d told my guards to hang back at the hotel, because I wasn’t giving them the satisfaction of getting their hands on Benoit, and I sure as hell didn’t need witnesses to the fact he’d pulled one over on me.

I crossed the courtyard, heading to the side of St. Mark’s, and then looked for somewhere deep in the shadows to prowl. A narrow walkway with branches leading off it was the perfect spot, and I took the path to the right and waited.

He’d follow me down, I was sure of that. Whatever he was after, he needed to be close enough to get the intel he wanted, so even though my rage vibrated off me in palpable waves, I kept still against the stone wall.

Here, kitty, kitty…

The silence was ominous as I listened for footsteps. When several minutes went by with nothing, I briefly considered that maybe I’d been wrong.

But then one of shadows on the wall moved. Just the slightest bit, but enough to catch my attention. I didn’t breathe as I watched it move another inch…and then another. Testing the waters, seeing if it was safe to dive in.

My gloved hands curled by my sides, itching to grab him, but I waited for him to move a little closer. He wouldn’t be escaping me, and I wasn’t about to jump the gun and let him slip from my grasp.

He was so damn quiet, his shoes not making a sound. His breath didn’t even make puffs of air. I’d pulled my scarf up over my mouth, and no doubt he’d done the same, but the shadow still moved in my direction, and then…the toes of his boots inched past the opening in the wall.

In the blink of an eye I moved, snatching him up so fast that he didn’t have a chance to utter a sound before I shoved him hard up against the wall and pressed my gun into the side of his throat.

Benoit’s eyes flared with surprise for only a second before he schooled his expression into something more neutral. Something that pissed me off even more.

But what had I expected to see? Hurt? Concern? An apology?

Get your fucking head out of the clouds, Dimitri. He betrayed you.

And that was all the reminder I needed to demand, “Who the fuck are you?”