Dark Deception (Vampire Royals of New York #1) - Sarah Piper Page 0,65
turn of events, she had no reason to believe it wouldn’t work.
She was Charlotte D'Amico, after all. Trained by the best in the business.
All she had to do was set aside her personal feelings, her severely malfunctioning moral compass, and—oh, right—her last shred of human decency.
No problem! I’m sure my father is already saving me a seat in hell…
A soft knock interrupted her morbid thoughts.
“Charlotte,” Dorian said, “are you dressed? I’m afraid duty calls.”
“Just a minute.” Charley closed her eyes, committing to memory the sound of her name on Dorian’s lips. It might be the last time she heard it.
Steeling herself, she grabbed her purse and opened the door, arranging her features into a mask of polish and poise.
Dorian stood before her, his bowtie back in place, eyes sparkling as he held out an arm to escort her back into the home her associates would soon liquidate. “Shall we face the music?”
With a casual familiarity she didn’t quite feel, Charley looped her arm through his and smiled. “Lead the way, hot stuff.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
A firing squad had assembled outside the guest house, each man more handsome and intimidating than the last.
All four of them stared openly at Charley—some curious, others hostile, all of them devastating.
“I see my brothers are here to roll out the red carpet.” Dorian sighed, then gestured at the men before them. “Malcolm, Colin, Gabriel, and Aiden. Meet my companion, Charlotte…”
There was an awkward pause as Dorian undoubtedly tried to recall her last name.
“D’Amico,” she blurted out, too quickly to think through the consequences. She’d never intended to share it, but considering she’d already shared her phone number and a good deal of her body with Dorian, one more detail hardly mattered.
Besides, she was a phantom, right? Nothing would be traced back to her.
“You must be a VIP, Ms. D’Amico,” the one called Gabriel said. “Our brother never allows guests in the guest house.” He forced a laugh, but his eyes held nothing but venom.
Charley fought off a shudder. She knew a mask when she saw one, and Gabriel—despite the good looks and finery—was six-and-a-half feet of pure, icy darkness.
“These overbearing savages are my brothers,” Dorian said. “Though you’d be hard-pressed to see the resemblance—clearly, I got the looks of the family.”
“If only your maker had been more generous when handing out brains,” the dimpled one—Colin—said. Unlike Gabriel, he seemed kind. Warmth radiated from his smile.
“Five Redthornes? Brothers?” Charley looked them over, doing her best to smile through the heat gathering in her cheeks. “Wow. That’s… wow.”
“Four, technically,” Aiden said. “I’m not a Redthorne, though I am Dorian’s favorite. Best mate and business partner too.”
“Oh? What sort of business?” She tried to remember what her uncle had said about Dorian’s company on their drive home from the auction. Fierce… something?
“Dorian and I run a company called FierceConnect,” he said. “We’re essentially a social network and platform for online gamers.” He shared a bit more about the business, his twinkling eyes putting her at ease.
But despite his friendly demeanor, she sensed a discomfort in him—in all of them.
After Aiden’s brief overview, it was a long beat before anyone spoke again, the brothers still staring at her, undoubtedly piecing together what she and Dorian had been up to before the interruption.
“Well,” she said, “this is even more awkward than the time I lost my virginity to Stanley Kopoweicz in the back of his parents’ camper while his mother was mowing the lawn, so…”
Dorian stiffened beside her, but Aiden cracked up.
Charley pressed a palm to her forehead and blew out a breath. “I did not say that out loud.”
“I didn’t hear a thing,” Aiden said somberly. “But for the oddest reason, I’m suddenly in the mood for a campout.”
She couldn’t help but laugh. Even Dorian cracked a smile.
“What brings you to Ravenswood, Ms. D’Amico?” The last one—Malcolm—asked. His tone was casual, but the question was anything but, and behind those eyes Charley spied a deep wariness.
“I’m an art consultant,” she replied. “My company supports the museum’s charitable endeavors.”
“Really? Which firm do you represent? Our father just passed—I’m sure Dorian told you—and we may need someone to valuate the—”
“Thank you, Malcolm,” Dorian said, “for putting your usual damper on the moment. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to escort my guest back to the manor.”
Their arms were still linked, and Charley looked up at him, momentarily dumbfounded.
His father just passed?
“I… I’m so sorry for your loss,” she stammered. “I didn’t know.”
“Wonder what else he’s left out of the family history,” Gabriel