Page 42 of Vicious Kingdom (Dynasty of Queens #3)

O ne step forward, two steps back. I watched my computer screen, going through the data. Annaliese had been gone the whole day, only just coming back fifteen minutes ago. She’d gone straight to the guest room and shut herself away.

At my request, the don had sent a soldier to watch her from across the street. The report was that she’d met with no one, only spoken to the baristas when she placed her orders.

I was being an ass—again.

There was no reason not to trust my wife’s devotion to the famiglia.

She hadn’t been the one to betray us to her father.

Hell, we didn’t even know if Hertz was the one who’d tipped off the politician.

An ambitious sonofabitch, who was properly motivated, Voss could have found out from any number of sources that I frequented the gambling ring.

From there, he would have dug, or maybe he simply guessed my involvement with owning the Coliseum.

But the damage was done.

Now we needed to destroy the politician more than ever.

His nonsense was coming between my wife and me. And I was the fool letting it.

Spinning the USB drive in my fingers, I rose and went to bed. I needed access to Anna’s laptop to upload the file. Once the tracker was in place, I could access her screen, her data, and sift through it whenever. But I couldn’t reach it until she was asleep.

As I lay down to wait for her to sleep, I didn’t know if she’d come in here. Had she last night? It was hard to say. I never came home.

Rolling over, I gripped the spare pillow and inhaled. It fucking smelt like her. But that could have been from all the other nights she crept in here.

She won’t come.

Why did that thought hurt so badly? I flopped back to the other side, facing the window. The first hour ticked by, and then another. Just when I was about to get up and sneak into her room to plant the device, the door cracked.

My heart leapt and relief swept through me.

She didn’t hate me.

The bed dipped ever so slightly as she slid under the blanket. I forced my breathing to remain steady.

Her warmth radiated across the bed, not quite touching me but close enough that I could feel her presence.

The soft rhythm of her breathing told me she was trying to stay quiet.

I fought the urge to roll over, to pull her against me, to apologize for my suspicions and the distance I’d created between us.

Instead, I lay motionless, feigning sleep while my mind raced. The USB drive pressed into my palm where I’d concealed it. This was my chance to plant the device on her computer, to finally know for certain that she was as loyal as she claimed. But something held me back.

What kind of marriage was built on surveillance? What kind of trust required digital proof?

Her breathing deepened, and I risked a glance over my shoulder. In the dim light filtering through the curtains, I could make out her silhouette. She’d curled herself into a tight ball.

Fuck me, I was a rotten bastard.

I should be comforting her. Holding her. Chasing away her nightmares.

How were we ever coming through this?

Pushing from the bed, I hurried to the guest room. One mess at a time. I powered up her device, plugged in the drive, and…began to snoop. It wasn’t necessary for me to log into her user profile on the laptop for the tracker to embed itself, but I was curious.

She’d been on the laptop all day.

And the word count of her novel had grown.

I began to read and continued long after the USB did its job. The story enthralled me. Unlike the one she’d been writing five years ago, there were no magical people, no princes, or battles.

This was a thriller—cold and cutting.

Chills broke over my arms as the words captured me, drawing me into the world and—

Wait a second.

I clicked into older files, ones with odd abbreviations. And then, as I scanned those, it hit me.

I closed the computer down and rushed to my office. Blood pumped through my veins, spurring me forward. I pulled a hardback off the shelf. My hands shook as I opened the page.

The same words stared back at me.

“Impossible,” I breathed.

But the proof was there.

Annaliese was my favorite author.

I discovered G.R. James, an indie author, years ago in an airport lounge. I followed their career, snapping up every latest release.

“All this time….” All this time, we’d been connected.

The years, the miles between us, and Anna’s voice had been whispering to me the whole time.

It was surreal. Now I stood here, wondering why she’d never told me.

She used to be so proud of her book—the fantasy one with faery princes and dark magic.

Since coming back into my life, she didn’t breathe a word about her writing.

I don’t deserve her secret.

I discovered it. But it wasn’t the same as if she’d told me. That produced a funny little ache in my chest. Annaliese was the master of webs, keeper of secrets. And right now, I would fall on my knees, plunge a sword in my chest, just to hear her admit one.

“I can earn your trust,” I breathed. I had to—or else I wouldn’t survive her.