of them, Señorita Elena,” the maid wailed. “They said if I called the police, they would kill us all.”
Taking hold of Anita’s shoulders, I gave her a little shake. “Stay calm. Go to the kitchen and don’t come out until I call you. I’ll take care of this.”
My voice held more confidence that I felt, and it was a good thing Anita didn’t ask me what I planned to do. In the time it took me to run to my father’s office, I still had no fucking clue.
Even though Anita warned me what was going on, I was still frozen in shock to find my father on his knees with two men standing over him. Both are holding pistols.
I don’t remember screaming, but the strangers turn to face me as if surprised, so I must have.
My father moans and hangs his head. “Elena … run … get out of here.”
The urge to do what he says is strong. My heart beats a mile a minute, sending blood rushing to my limbs. Fight or flight. It’s insane for me to stay, but I can’t just leave him here to die. I don’t think the drawn guns are an indication of an idle threat. They mean to kill him.
“What’s going on?” I demand, stepping into the room.
The man standing at my father’s back looks me up and down with interested eyes, his mouth half-cocked in a smirk. He’s tall and broad-shouldered, thin but with an athletic physique. He has dark brown hair with lighter strands here and there. A pair of full lips are almost too much for his angular face but are balanced out by large blue eyes and a nose that looks as if it’s been broken once or twice. If it weren’t for that nose and the gun in his hand, he would look more like an Armani model than a criminal.
He’s wearing a navy-blue suit with a violet shirt and blue tie in a Windsor knot. I don’t know why I’m fixated on his clothes—the designer in me can’t seem to help it. The thought of clothes reminds me that I’m hardly wearing any, so I snatch my wrap closed and glare at him. This seems to amuse the thug, who gives me a grin that’s both charming and menacing at the same time.
“Nothing that concerns you,” says the second man, drawing my attention to him. “But since you decided to intrude on our business, close the door behind you.”
Every hair on my body stands on end as our eyes connect. I can’t believe I zeroed in on the other guy first, when this one seems to be sucking all the oxygen out of the room. He isn’t as tall as his partner, but he has presence. He’s broadly built, and even through the opening of his suit jacket, I can see how his shirt is tailored to fit a powerful, bulky frame. He’s wearing black on black—his suit, shirt, tie, and shoes all in that deathly shade. Inky hair is swept back from his face, except for a few strands falling into his eyes. Those eyes look like chips of onyx from here—black and shuttered, mysterious. He has a chiseled face and a chin dimple showing through the days’ worth of stubble shadowing his jaw. When he spoke, his voice was low and gravelly. A deep bass with the slightest accent threaded through it. Black coffee with just a drop of cream.
I swallow past the lump in my throat and stare at his pistol—which is now aimed directly at me. His fingers are tattooed, but I can’t make out what the black letters say from this distance. They may as well spell ‘death’ considering he looks about two seconds away from pulling that trigger.
“Now!” he roars, reminding me he gave an order.
I back toward the door, reaching with an unsteady hand to push it shut.
My father is sobbing like a child now, bent at the waist with this forehead pressed into the rug. “I’m so sorry, Elena. You were never supposed to get dragged into this.”
Staring at his lowered head, I take a step in his direction. The frightening man in black shakes his head, freezing me in my tracks. Funny, his partner doesn’t scare me as much as he does. The man in blue seems more laid-back, still looking as if this is all a game to him. But the guy in black … he looks like the grim reaper—judge, jury, and executioner. I’m surprised I