Page 29 of Nikola

Skye’s safety and happiness were my top priority. I’d learned over the years that her pain was my pain and her distress was my distress. Maybe she couldn’t be mine, but I sure as fuck would ensure she walked—no, danced through life exhilarated.

I sat in my father’s office in New Orleans, digging into Revelation’s archives despite the assurance by Maxim Baldwin that the woman wasn’t a member. I had to turn over every stone while trying to uncover the true identity of the mysterious Duchess and any threat to Skye.

The fact that The Duchess knew Skye would be there told me someone was playing chess and monitoring her movements.

Hence why it was important I scanned through anyone and everyone who was there that night. Plus, I was fairly certain Maxim Baldwin was hiding something. Or someone.

I found records of all its members, and the closest I’d gotten to any member with a title was the Duke of Glasgow. The man was dead, but I knew him due to his connection to Skye’s mother. He was one of the long list of Mrs. Phoenix Leone’s step-grandfathers, deceased and gone. Skye had never met him nor her great-grandmother Diana Bergman, the great actress of her time, who outlived all her husbands.

The coincidence was suspect, but when I dug deeper, it turned out that the duke and Diana had been members of the original club for decades, so it seemed the connection was just that—a coincidence. There was another guest member to the duke that night at Revelation that set me on edge.

Enzo Marchetti.

However, it seemed he was too preoccupied with someone else to even notice Skye.

It really turned out everyone who was anyone belonged to the exclusive club. How I’d never heard of it before I caught the girls sneaking into it was beyond me.

The deviant shit that went on in that club was enough to unseat quite a few politicians, but I wasn’t interested in blackmail today, and the information I needed wasn’t there.

The door barged open and my sister appeared. We always thought Aunt Tatiana was the biggest prima donna, but Marietta superseded her tenfold.

Loungewear for my baby sister consisted of the finest Dior, Armani, Gucci, Prada, Burberry, or Hermès garments. Honestly, it was disturbing that I even knew those names. Recognized them too. A hazard of being related to fashion-obsessed women.

“Jesus, Marietta, don’t you know how to knock?” Yes, it was technically our father’s office, but I used it just as much.

“I do, but why should I when it’s my house too?”

I rolled my eyes. “It’s not your office.”

“Yours either.” She strode inside, her emerald-green Armani dress dragging behind her.

“Yet.” I leaned back in the chair. “Is there a reason you’re here other than to annoy me?”

She took a seat across the desk, crossing her legs. “What are you doing?”

Tension crowded my shoulders as I returned my attention to the task at hand. “I’m trying to learn the identity of a club member.”

“Our club?”

“No.”

“Did you try torturing the club owner? That usually works.”

I narrowed my eyes on her. “What do you know about torture?”

“Nothing.” Her eyes met mine and I thought I saw something in them, but it was gone too fast. “Skye messaged me.”

My sister also liked to meddle in things. Our parents were going to have their hands full with that one for sure. God help the poor schmuck who fell in love with her.

“Will you be disturbing me every time someone messages you?”

“No.”

“Thank fuck,” I muttered, my fingers flying across the keyboard, but I knew it was no use. This was yet another dead end. Maxim Baldwin must have either deleted surveillance footage and further records of that night, or he was telling the truth that he didn’t have anything.

When my sister remained quiet, I couldn’t resist asking, “So what did Skye have to say?”

Marietta sat upright and all but rubbed her hands together like a cartoon villain. “She said she’s going to find herself a boyfriend.”