Bloody Heart (Brutal Birthright #4) - Sophie Lark Page 0,71
improvement.
“So, what can we do for you, Dante?” my father asks.
Dante is still standing. He looks awkwardly around for somewhere to set down his mug, settling for the windowsill.
“I want to know who shot at you yesterday,” he says bluntly.
“I’d like to know as well,” Tata replies.
“Do you have any ideas?”
“I’m afraid I’ve made a lot of enemies with this new coalition. You would think this would be a topic that anyone could agree upon, but in fact, it’s ruffled the feathers of a lot of important people. We’ve called for extreme sanctions against countries like Saudi Arabia, who have permitted de facto slavery within their borders.”
“Is that where the death threats came from?” Dante asks. “Saudi Arabia?”
“Some,” Tata says. “Some from Russia, China, Iran, Belarus, and Venezuela too. We’ve pushed to have these countries downgraded to Tier 3 status by the Department of State—meaning that they’re considered countries that do not comply with the minimum standards of human rights in regard to trafficking.”
Dante frowns, thinking. “What about domestic threats?” he asks.
“We’ve made plenty of enemies in America, too,” Tata admits. “We’re pushing for aggressive prosecution and harsher sentencing for people who facilitate sex trafficking on and off of American soil. For instance, American citizens who charter private jets and offshore boats for such purposes. I’m sure you’re familiar with the spate of accusations against politicians and celebrities who have attended those sorts of . . . parties.”
“I’ve heard of it,” Dante grunts. “Anyone in particular who might blame you for those accusations?”
“Maybe one person,” Tata says. “But he got off scot-free, so I don’t think he has much motivation for revenge.”
“Who?” Dante says.
“His name is Roland Kenwood. He’s a publisher. Heavily involved in politics, too. Wealthy as sin, of course. Which is why the case never went anywhere.”
“Where does he live?” I ask.
“Here in Chicago,” Dante interjects. “I know who he is.”
“Yes, I’m sure Callum Griffin has crossed paths with him,” Tata says.
“You think he’d risk hiring someone to kill you, right in his own backyard?” I say.
My father shrugs. “The mental machinations of a man who would hire fifteen-year-old girls for his parties is beyond me. Maybe he wanted to watch it go down. Or maybe it wasn’t him at all. I’m not a detective, just a diplomat.”
Dante nods slowly. He seems to think that’s a good lead.
The door between the two suites opens. Henry comes stumbling through, sleepy-eyed, with his hair a wild tangle of curls all around his head, and his striped pajama top misbuttoned so that one side hangs down lower than the other.
I freeze up at the sight of him. As I see Dante looking right at his son, I can’t even breathe.
I wonder if Dante realizes how silent the room just became. Henry doesn’t seem to notice. He gives Dante one quick, curious look, then heads straight for the breakfast table.
Is there a flicker of suspicion in his dark eyes? Or does he just see a boy like any other?
“I’ll let you get back to your food,” Dante says to us all.
He heads for the door.
I jump up and hurry after him, waiting until he’s out in the hallway to say, “One moment!”
Dante stops, turning around slowly.
“I want to come with you,” I say.
“Where?”
“To talk to this Kenwood person. I know you’re going to see him.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“If he’s trying to kill my father, I want to help stop him. You’re not always going to be there to block any bullets headed our way.”
“He’ll know who you are,” Dante says.
“So what? That might be a good thing. How else are you going to make him talk to you? He might be goaded into doing it, if he does know me.”
Dante frowns. He doesn’t like that idea at all. Whether because he thinks it will only cause more trouble, or because he doesn’t want to spend time with me, I can’t tell.
“I’ll think about it,” he says, at last.
He turns to leave again. I want to say something else, anything else, but I don’t know what.
Finally I blurt out, “Thank you, Dante. For saving my father’s life. And for looking into this.”
“I’m not promising anything,” Dante says. “But I want to know who that shooter is.”