Page 313 of Coal Hearts

“I told you, I like to know everything I can about my jewels. I researched you, and even though your surname is Indian, your first name is not. It’s a bit of a conundrum and one I’d like to understand.”

Flashes of memories—told to me via my adoptive mother’s bedtime stories.

The note on my baby blanket.

The scribbled message from my birth mother, read by my highly sensitive brother and incorrectly deciphered, which landed me with a name that dwelled every day in my light-hazel eyes.

I would never give up that priceless moment.

Ever.

An even worse thought came.

He’d researched me.

He’d heard me mention the hospital where my father worked.

Krish—

Good God, Il...what have you done?

I yanked the leash out of Henri’s hand and went to swoop to my feet. Only, Henri clamped his large hand on my shoulder, keeping me kneeling.

I struggled, but his fingers bit deep and painful.

Hating him, I hissed at Victor, “You didn’t hurt my family, did you? Don’t hurt them. Don’t—” My voice ended in a choke.

Fuck, how could I be so stupid to give out my name, even on the microscopic chance that Henri’s brother might find me? I might’ve condemned them to thugs going around and murdering them.

“Ily, quiet.” Henri squeezed my shoulder.

“Don’t touch me!” I scratched my nails over his wrist, desperate to fight. “Let me go. God, please let me go. I have to go back to him. He’ll be so worried. So scared.”

“Who will?” His voice darkened.

“Her brother,” Victor said without a ruffle. “He’s autistic. Very selective with who he speaks to apparently. Hasn’t spoken a word since she went to Paris.”

“Leave them the hell alone!” I hurled myself toward him.

Henri dragged me back. Hooking his fingers into my collar, he pressed me against his legs. “Calm down.”

“Tell him not to hurt them.”

“Sweetling, do I look like the type of man who goes around murdering innocent people?”

I coughed.

I literally couldn’t breathe correctly.

“Is that a trick question?” I wanted to rub my eyes and wash my ears out. “You’re a trafficking psychopath.”

“No, no, no, my pet, I’m a trafficking connoisseur.” Glancing at the large pond-pool, watching a flittering emerald dragonfly, he said, “Besides, I have no need for your family. As long as you keep behaving like a good little jewel, I promise I won’t disrupt your loved ones’ lives any more than it already has been by losing you.”

Tears.

Hot, agonising tears.

I wanted to cry.