Page 92 of The Hidden Heir

I needed something to help me come down from that crimson haze of pure rage and helplessness I felt upon learning that my brother is still alive and hidden in one of Mancuso’s secret houses. There’s a lot I don’t understand yet, so much information I’m still missing.

It would be foolish of me to storm the place without a proper plan.

Victor’s texts greet me as soon as I check my phone.

Back at 10, his last message says.

I look at the clock. It’s almost nine.

“Fuck,” I groan and get up for another stretch.

My bones crack, my muscles unwind, and my ribcage relaxes with a deep, shuddering breath. A thousand thoughts cross my head before I text Caroline and remind her she’s on the clock on this one. In the meantime, I’ve ordered Solomon to watch the Mayfair house and send me hourly reports.

There’s been no movement so far.

“Good morning, Susie,” I say after almost bumping into her outside the kitchen. My stomach growls loud enough to make the girl blush as she looks up at me.

“Good morning, Mr. Petrucci. Breakfast is ready, already on the table.”

“Thank you,” I reply with a half smile. I must look like shit, my shirt half unbuttoned and my pants creased from my rough sleep, but I don’t care. I need coffee injected into my system and enough carbs to get my mind and my body back to a more functional standard.

Once I reach the breakfast room, the smell of the foot hits me hard. My hunger becomes unbearable, and I dig right into a plate of pancakes and bacon, drizzling maple syrup without a lick of shame, including on the scrambled eggs.

Susie fills my cup with freshly brewed coffee, awkwardly smiling while she watches the color return to my cheeks with every hearty bite.

“I hope you feel better,” she says. “Shall I get you some of the fruit salad, too? We made some yesterday, and the fruit is still fresh, the way you like it.”

“Sure, why not? Though I’ll feel a lot better when my wife and nephew join me for breakfast. Are they up yet?”

“I don’t think so,” Susie mumbles, her brow slightly furrowed. “It’s a little odd, actually. They’re usually up at eight. I’ll go check.”

“Please, do. I need to talk to Valentina anyway.”

And apologize. And tell her about Stefano.

Fuck, how the hell do I tell her about Stefano?

I keep considering the emotional impact it’s going to have on her, the indisputable fact that the father of her child is still alive. And I keep fighting against this underlying feeling of jealousy that won’t let me go. I shouldn’t feel this way. She’s mine, all mine, body and soul.

And I’m hers.

All hers.

Susie returns with an ashen face and a quivering lower lip. “Mr. Petrucci…”

“What is it?”

“Valentina and Michael… They’re not upstairs. I just checked.”

The first pang hits hard, but my mind won’t go there yet. I’m tired and slightly hung over, reeling from too much anger and confusion already.

“Maybe they’re out in the garden,” I say, setting my fork down.

“Some of their things are missing, along with one of their bags.”

A split second later, I run into Michael’s room. Some of the drawers are open. The dresser door, too. Looking under the bed, I see that the suitcase is still there, but the duffel bag with the blue hippo decals on one side is gone.

“Fuck,” I whisper and check the boy’s bathroom. His toothbrush and toothpaste are gone.