Stolen: Dante’s Vow by Natasha Knight
Dante
Jericho St. James.
The St. James family has their hands in several ventures in the states and northern Europe. Some legal, some not. Jericho has no social media presence. No address on any record. All I know about him is that he’s thirty-one years old. His past is spotty at best. And in the last five years, he has vanished like a fucking ghost. In fact, apart from his birth certificate, high school diploma and a Harvard law degree, he doesn’t exist.
And I’m about to meet him.
Matthaeus and I walk into the large, noisy café of the posh hotel near the public library, and I spot the man immediately. Not that I got a clear look at his face last night. But I know it’s him the instant I see him from the asshole-grin on his face.
And I already don’t like him.
“Dante,” he says when we get to his table at the farthest corner. He rises to his feet.
I recognize the man standing at his back, hands folded in front of him, wearing black from head to toe.
St. James extends his hand to me. I glance at it, note the ink of a tattoo extending over his wrist and onto the back of his hand. He’s wearing a ring on the ring finger of his right hand. Left hand is bare.
I shift my gaze back to his. “Jericho St. James.” I don’t shake his hand. I just take the seat nearest me, and Matthaeus takes the other one. “Who the fuck are you exactly?”
“Something to drink, gentlemen?” he asks as he resumes his seat, and a waitress comes by. He gives her a smile meant to dazzle and it clearly does. The girl flushes, almost trips over herself to take his order for coffee for the table.
He’s well dressed and the large ring on his finger bears an insignia I can’t quite make out from here. He’s as tall as me, built about the same but his face isn’t fucked up like mine. Although I have a feeling when I delve a little deeper his hands will come out as bloody.
I lean toward him when the waitress leaves. “You threw me out of a moving vehicle.”
“We slowed it down.” He smiles, scrutinizing me all along.
“It was still moving, asshole.”
He shrugs a shoulder. “I saved your life.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Yeah, I do. I give you serious credit for taking Petrov out. That is no easy feat. But walking into his club afterward looking like you did, out of it like you were and dripping blood on their tacky marble floors, well, that was just stupid.”
“Fuck you. What do you want?”
“What I wanted was for the meeting between Petrov and Pérez to take place. Flush out that fuck. But I guess that’s out now.”
“What’s your relationship with Felix Pérez?”
“He has something I want.”
“And that is?”
He pauses. It’s just for a moment, but it’s all I need to see that this is it. This thing that Pérez has, that he wants, it’s his weakness.
“There was a meeting.”
“And?”
“The night of the explosion.”
Now it’s me who stops.
“Just before you and your brother started shooting up the place.”
“You were there?”
“No.”
“Then how do you know any of this?”
“Like I said, there was a meeting.”
“You’re just a fount of information, aren’t you?”
“A meeting that Pérez recorded unbeknownst to the participants.”
I lean back in my seat, fold my arms across my chest. It’s my turn to grin now. “Sounds like an important meeting. Maybe I can get a copy of the minutes.”
The waitress returns and he smiles at her, but I see how tight it is. Before he shifts his attention to me, he pours a spoonful of sugar into his coffee and stirs. I don’t touch mine.
“He has another buyer lined up, you know,” he says, clanking the silver spoon against the porcelain coffee cup.
I crack my neck. Flex my hands under the table. Another buyer for Mara? Doesn’t make sense.
He watches me intently, dark eyes zeroed in so as not to miss the tiniest tell.
“And now that Petrov’s out of the picture, he can move more freely.”
“Doesn’t add up.”
He raises his eyebrows.
“That there would be a new buyer. Considering who she is, or more accurately who she isn’t. Among other things.” Not that I believed Petrov would actually return her. He’d more likely have killed her in front of Pérez and then killed Pérez.
“I’m just sharing information I’ve vetted. It’s true.”
“Who is it?”
“That I don’t know. Whoever it is is keeping a very low profile, but he wants her specifically.”
“Why?”
He shrugs a shoulder. “Your guess is as good as mine.”
I draw in a breath, study the enigma sitting across from me. “What do you want, St. James?”
“I want Pérez, like I said.”
“For the recording.”
He nods.
“What’s on it?”
He doesn’t reply but I watch how his eyes darken. Whatever it is, it’s very personal.
“Why am I here? Why make sure I walked out of Red’s last night?” I ask.
“The girl. You’ve got her well-hidden.”
I grit my jaw. Matthaeus signals for me to remain calm as I do the math.
“I need to borrow her,” the bastard continues.
“No.”
“I promise to take excellent care of her. You have my word.”
“Your word means shit to me. No.”
“He won’t be able to resist coming for her. I know the deal he’s struck is worth well over a million dollars and he’s already been paid half.”
“What part of no is confusing to you?” I push my chair back and stand. “Find your bait elsewhere.” I turn, take a step.
“What that recording shows will be just as valuable to you as it is to me, Dante.”
I pause.
“To your brother. His family.”
I glance at Matthaeus.
“You don’t want it known that your uncle was involved in, well, less than savory business.”
At that, I spin, return to the table, and slam my hands on the surface. He doesn’t even blink.
I lean in close. So close I can see that his eyes are actually different colors. One a dark blue, the other deep gray.
“I don’t give a fuck what my uncle was involved in. And you should have done your homework before you came to me if that’s all you’ve got.” I straighten.
“Oh, I did,” he says, standing. He takes a moment to button his suit jacket, but I don’t miss the shiny metal of a pistol holstered on his belt. I get the feeling he doesn’t need the soldiers standing just behind him. “I know you wouldn’t want your true parentage getting out.”
My jaw tenses.
“Or how that parentage came about.”
He looks at me straight on, eyes unblinking.
“I am not your enemy, Dante. But I do need what I need.”
“Who the fuck are you exactly?”
“Sit.”
I don’t.
He takes a breath in and sits, gestures to my vacant chair.
“Dante,” Matthaeus says. He lays a hand on my shoulder.
I want to kill this man in front of me. I want to wrap my hands around his neck and choke the life out of him.
When Petrov goaded me about David, about him being my father, I didn’t care how he knew. How he could have found out. All I was thinking about was Mara. What he’d done to her. What I’d do to him. It was necessary for survival, and it worked. I survived.
But this. This man knowing so fucking much, it gets to me.
“Sit down, Dante,” St. James says. “Please.”
I sit.
He reaches into his pocket and sets the same card he’d slipped into my pocket on the table. I don’t shift my gaze from his.
“My client, this organization here, has a serious stake in getting that recording back.”
“Who are they?” I remember I found the same card among David’s things.
“Just a group of wealthy, interested and influential people. A society, of sorts.”
“What did my uncle have to do with them?”
“Nothing good. And he wasn’t with them. It’s not something you can buy into. You’re born part of The Society or you’re not.”
I look at him. “And you?”
“I have ties.”
“Vague is your middle name, isn’t it? Give me something solid.”
“He thought to use The Society to shield himself, ultimately, and there were some in the order who may have allowed more than they should have. It was damaging and will be more so if that recording gets into the wrong hands.”
“My uncle was dead by the time that meeting took place.”
He studies me. Does he know it was me who did the killing? At this point, I would be more surprised if he didn’t.
“His name was mentioned. Along with your brother. Yourself. The cartel your sister-in-law is associated with.”
“And what will you do with Pérez if you succeed in flushing him out?”
“I will hand him over to you once I ensure the recording is destroyed.”
“What makes you think he’ll destroy it? Are you just going to ask nicely?”
“He wants the girl back. He’s desperate in fact.”
“You don’t get it, do you?” I ask, standing again. “The girl is not on the table. Period. You and I may have a common goal to find that fuck, but you’re not using her to do it. So, if you want to try to blackmail me, you’re welcome to fucking try, but you’re wasting your time. The dead are dead. I’m not keeping up appearances. And I don’t like being threatened. So why don’t you go fuck yourself?”
Anger makes his jaw twitch. “I’ll be here for a few days more.”
“Not interested.”
“You’re making a mistake.”
“Won’t be my first.”
“He’ll come for her. He’ll come with a fucking army because you taking Petrov out allowed him that.” He stands again, buttons his god damned jacket again. “It was a stupid move. An emotional one.”
I study him. He’s right. It was definitely emotionally charged. But I’d do it exactly the same way if I had to do it over again. Maybe take more time to carve the fucker out.
But I wonder how far St. James is willing to go. Because he’s not telling me everything. I know that much. Hell, I don’t blame him. But he’s not using Mara. No one is.