Page 55 of Sinner's Storm
God, this was all so confusing.
“Thank you, Sypher,” I heard Mr. Valentinetti say as he turned to me. “Mrs. Calloway, you will be happy to know that your daughter is doing well.”
“How do you know?”
Mr. Valentinetti turned his phone, allowing me to see a live feed of my daughter playing with a little boy no older than her, as Malice watched in the corner of a room, eating an apple.
Tears formed, rolling down my face as I stared at the phone.
“Don’t worry, Mrs. Calloway. Sypher has assured me that Malice has not left your daughter’s side. It seems the man is smitten with her, and I can see why. She is beautiful.”
“Thank you,” I whispered as the SUV slowed before turning into a private drive. Seeing the large mansion up ahead, I took a deep breath, not knowing what was about to happen. However, when the vehicle came to a stop, the front door of the large house opened and out rushed Finley, running for the SUV.
Unbuckling my seat belt, I opened the door just as she reached me, hugging me tightly.
“Are you okay?”
Crying, I held my friend, shaking my head. “What’s going on, Finley? I don’t understand.”
“Ladies let’s move inside, where it is more comfortable,” Mr. Valentinetti suggested, waving his hand to the door, where a beautiful blonde woman stood next to an opposing figure.
Taking my hand, Finley ushered me toward the entrance of the house.
“Mrs. Calloway,” the blonde woman said, smiling. “My name is Layla Valentinetti, and this is—”
“Maxim Fedorov,” I muttered as the ominous man frowned.
Italian Mafia, now Russian Bratva?
What the hell was I in the middle of?
“Mrs. Calloway,” Mr. Fedorov greeted, stepping to the side. “Welcome to my home.”
Finley didn’t give me time to think as she dragged me inside where Illyria Valentinetti stood, holding a little boy in her arms. The woman was more beautiful in person. The papers really didn’t do her justice.
Gulping, I looked at Finley, who wrapped her arm around me.
“Just breathe, Delany. I promise everything is okay.”
“What’s going on?” I whispered, unable to take my eyes away from the famous woman.
“Delany, I would like you to meet Illyria. One of my oldest friends.”
“Hello,” I muttered.
“Uncle Gio!” A small boy, no older than five, maybe six years old, ran past Illyria, straight into Giovanni’s arms.
“Hello, Henry. Jesus, Maxim, what are you feeding my nephew?”
“Kid eats everything in sight,” Maxim grumbled, walking toward the sitting room to the right, heading straight for the bar. “My food bill has doubled because of him.”
Illyria chuckled as the woman named Layla rolled her eyes. “Delany, please come in and sit.”
Tears rolled down my face as I listened to the most outrageous, heartbreaking, and malicious story I’d ever heard. And while I wouldn’t admit it, I was scared because what Layla Valentinetti just told me wasn’t a bedtime story, it was a freaking horror story.
There was no freaking way it was real.
Impossible.