Dark Obsession (Vampire Royals of New York #3) - Sarah Piper Page 0,17
up, Dorian would be hard pressed to defend against their hellfire.
Fortunately, Estas was currently occupied with Cole at a dive bar in town, discussing Cole’s possible interest in another Egyptian statue. Because Estas seemed to believe Cole was a serious collector—and not altogether virtuous—he’d easily agreed to the meeting. Dorian would’ve preferred a more distant location, but on that point, Estas wouldn’t budge.
With any luck, it would be a long negotiation, giving Dorian and Charlotte plenty of time to get the intel they needed.
Assuming it even existed.
Assuming it was kept inside Estas’s home.
Assuming they didn’t get caught.
Assuming Rudy didn’t still have men watching their comings and goings from Ravenswood.
There were a lot of assumptions—a lot of risks. The only sure thing tonight was Charlotte, poised and confident, completely unfazed as she worked her magic on the door. She was truly in her element.
Now, she glanced at Dorian over her shoulder, a thin smile touching her lips. “Well, which is it, vampire king? Afraid, impressed, or turned on?”
He answered without hesitation. “Yes.”
“Sounds to me like you’re in the wrong line of work.” She tapped the key with a small hammer, then turned it, easily unlocking the deadbolt. “We’re in. Follow me, and remember, gloves on at all times. We don’t know how smart Estas is or who else he’s got on the payroll—no sense leaving behind evidence of our visit.”
Dorian nodded, then sent a quick text to Aiden, who’d dropped them off and was now on standby in Dorian’s BMW at a nearby park.
We’re in. No issues so far.
Aiden replied with a thumbs-up.
Charlotte pushed open the door and stepped inside, Dorian close behind. The interior was dark, save for a dim light left on above the kitchen stove.
After listening for a moment to determine they were alone, she unzipped her satchel and exchanged the hammer and bump key for a flashlight, keeping the beam away from the windows and any reflective surfaces.
She really had thought of everything.
From the brief reconnaissance they’d done outside, Dorian knew the entire single-story space was less than a thousand square feet, with an open living and kitchen area up front and a bedroom, bathroom, and home office toward the back.
They headed straight for the office. It was sparsely appointed, with nothing more than a card table serving as a desk for a laptop and small banker’s lamp. There was a cheap folding chair behind it, an empty waste basket, and one piece of art on the wall, with a set of cheap curtains hanging crooked over the windows. A small closet on the back wall held only a few coats and empty hangers.
“Doesn’t seem like this is his primary location,” Dorian said.
“He might be working out of the Fifth Avenue commercial space Aiden mentioned. Makes sense—there’s not much room here to store the artwork.”
“Aiden said the Manhattan space was being renovated.”
“Probably just a front to keep passersby from nosing around.”
“Excellent,” Dorian said dryly. “Will we be breaking and entering there as well?”
Charlotte sighed. “You promised me, Dorian. You promised you’d keep your shit together tonight and your judgments about my life—my former life—to yourself.”
“Forgive me.” Dorian held up his hands in apology. “This is my first robbery. I’m a bit on edge.”
“Well get off edge. We’ve got work to do.” She set her satchel on the chair, then opened and booted up the laptop.
Dorian watched in scolded silence. It wasn’t the crime itself that had him on edge. It was Charlotte.
After doing his best to get himself sorted after the Rogozin interrogations on Sunday—the epic shampoo hunt, a fruitless stop at his near-ruined Tribeca penthouse that only further enraged him, an hours-long drive through the mountains to get his head on straight—he’d returned to Ravenswood with every intention of telling her about the demon claim. But the moment he’d found her sleeping in his bed—a sight so perfect and right it was as if he’d been coming home to her for an eternity—all he could think was, No. Let her have this one last night. One last night believing her soul is unmarred. Believing she’s free.
That one last night turned into the next, and the next, and here they were tonight, all the most terrible things left unsaid as they crept through the lair of the enemy.
The enemy who may very well be connected to the demon lord who’d made the claim.
Dorian didn’t want Charlotte anywhere near Estas. Didn’t want her anywhere near any demon—lord, crime boss, or bootlicking errand boy alike. But she was a