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“A huge donor recently moved to Douglas after opening a construction company. He set up a PAC to lobby my office, the police department, and the court officials up for reelection this year. I’m slated to meet with him in a few weeks.”
“Did you do a background check on him?” I ask, wondering why a donor would be Valentino’s first option.
“It’s on the list.”
“Anyone else comes to mind?”
“Hmm.” Valentino spins a pen between his fingers. “A likely source would be a competitor.”
“The last major threat the DeLucas faced was Ghost Six, and we dealt with them. Although…” I stroke my beard as I run through the other underground influences in Douglas. “There are a few new outfits, but they haven’t made much noise.”
Valentino sneers at me. “Then you should ask why they haven’t. Don’t trust anyone when they’re silent. One day, you’ll wonder how your throat got slit because you let them be. And you know I won’t stand for anything happening to you.”
“You’re right. I should have already looked into them.”
“And why haven’t you?”
I can’t very well tell him the real reason for my distraction. Although he might understand, I don’t fucking get it. The woman dominating my thoughts who was supposed to be forgettable is anything but, and until I find her I can’t seem to get her out of my head long enough to run my business the way I’ve done since inheriting it.
“Sansone?”
“I’ll take care of it.”
Concern shadows Valentino’s eyes, but before he can dig into territory I don’t want him anywhere near, his phone rings.
“This isn’t over,” he says with a frown that disappears the instant he answers a video call with Sloane.
“Principessa…”
I exit without another word, intent on finding my next clue into who wants to take me down.
I walk through my home, passing the packages from my recent shopping spree in anticipation of bringing my daughter here. Tonight, I’ll put together her furniture, bookshelves, and toys the designer ordered. When I finally bring her under my protection, she’ll get everything she could ever wish for under the sun. And my hands will put it together, not those of the many men I employ. Unlike Giulio did with me and Valentino, I will take the time and care in providing whatever will remove the deadened gaze I sense has become part of her survival.
I continue onward, my aim to find Jamal after my less-than-fruitful endeavors. He’s in my office, a glass in hand and a leg propped on his knee.
“Where is she?” I ask as I walk through the door.
He shoots up from his seated position and rests the glass on a coaster. “Don’t know.” Before I use him as an outlet for my frustration and rage, he raises his hand. “She’s a fucking ghost. We ran her name through all the international and domestic databases. I even tried using the image we have from our security videos, but the one image we have of her didn’t work.”
I round my desk and sit. “Why did we only have one image?”
“In the video, she had the girl point an infrared laser at the camera. This is the only still I could pull from the surveillance. You’ll notice she’s wearing glasses.”
Of course, I remember. Not being able to see her eyes and add them to her face is yet another reason for my frustration. Never have I been obsessed with someone who I have little confidence I could recognize on the street.
“They’re infrared as well. When she looks straight at the camera, most of her face is whited out, causing our facial recognition algorithm to fail.”
“She came prepared.” Inside, I fume at her ability to hide from me. The longer she escapes, the worse it will be when I find her.
Images of my hand wrapped around her throat have my blood rushing to places it shouldn’t. I want to see fear enter her eyes, but I can’t even imagine how she would look because I don’t fucking know the shape or color of her eyes. More than ever Zakiya Chase will rue the day she came across my doorstep.
Jamal shifts, drawing my attention to him. He hasn’t asked a lot of questions regarding Zakiya, but I fill him in after telling him to sit.
“If we’re only interested in the woman to get the girl’s whereabouts, maybe the focus should be on the girl.” He leans forward, his gaze shining with ideas.
I press my lips together to prevent the denial from leaving my mouth. Zakiya is as important as Jinx, but since I can’t articulate why, I won’t embarrass myself by adamantly holding onto the search for her.
“You said the child’s name is Jinx and she’s around six years old?”
