Bartholomew: A Forbidden Dark Romance

BARTHOLOMEW The days grew longer. The nights shorter. Gray clouds were replaced by sunshine, and rainy afternoons were replaced by colorful flowers. Paris came alive once again, the lights from the Eiffel Tower shining like a star rather than a lighthouse in the fog. I hated it. I sat alone at the bar. It emptied out shortly after I arrived, either because people didn’t like the look of me, or because it was almost midnight on a Tuesday. My half-full glass was my company, along with the bartender, who cast worried glances my way. I was the only reason he had to keep this place open, but he wouldn’t dare ask me to leave. Finally, my guest arrived. He stepped out of the cold and into the bar, in a long-sleeved shirt and dark jeans. His bright eyes found mine, and with a subtle look of annoyance, he joined me at the bar. I rapped my knuckles against the counter. “Another for my friend here.” The bartender was quick to help us, sliding the glass across the counter. I held up my glass to him. “To old friends.” Benton held my gaze for a second before he clinked his glass against mine. “And old enemies.” The corner of my mouth lifted with a smile, and I drank. He did the same. We hadn’t spoken in six months, but his life had changed substantially. He was married now and had just found out he had a baby on the way. I’d congratulate him, but it sounded like a miserable existence to me. “My invitation must have gotten lost in the mail.” “It was just the three of us.” “Did you knock her up on purpose, or…?” “Yes.” Benton flashed his fierce eyes on me. “There are people out there who think children are a blessing rather than a curse.” “I’m definitely not one of those people.” “You don’t say.” He took a drink. “How are things in the Catacombs?” “Stale.” “Are we talking about the air quality or business?” “Both.” I brought the glass to my lips and took a drink. “I find it hard to believe business has been stagnant with Roan out of the picture.” I turned to him, my eyebrow slightly raised. “How did you know that?” “Bleu.” I was certain Benton disapproved of his brother’s choice, but he didn’t ask me to fire him. “Croatia isn’t that big of a market.” “You’re still moving millions of pounds a week.” “I hear the Skull King does more.” Benton went rigid when he heard what I’d said. “I’d hoped you moved on from that.” “Looks like you don’t know me as well as I thought.” “You have more than enough, Bartholomew.” “Until I have everything, it’ll never be enough.” Benton studied me, his blue eyes showing all his thoughts like words on a page. “I understand the high you get with every conquest. It fades…and then you need another. With every bullet that misses your heart, with every skull you smash beneath your boot, it gives you something you can’t find anywhere else. But it’ll never fix the problem, Bartholomew. It’ll never fill that hole.” “What hole?” I asked, my lips slightly curled in amusement. Benton stared at me, refusing to actually say it. I swirled the glass, watching the liquor spin like water in a flushed toilet. “The Skull King’s days are limited.” “And then what happens when he’s dead? There’ll just be another.” I tipped my head back and took a drink before I tapped the glass to the counter. “Not if I take his place.” BARTHOLOMEW France shared a border with Italy, but the distance between us was still infinite. To control a territory that far away required intense delegation and management. I was up for the job and ready to kill anyone who resisted. But I needed to know my enemy—and that required research. It required spies. It required massive payoffs. I stepped into the living room, barefoot and bare-chested, wearing sweatpants with nothing underneath because I’d just finished with my favorite w***e in the bedroom. Bleu was there waiting for me, a pitcher of ice water and a glass placed there by my butler. A black folder was sitting there as well. I took a seat in the armchair, knees spread wide apart, sweat still on my back that smeared against the leather chair. Bleu didn’t look directly at me, as if he wanted to respect my privacy by ignoring the s*x written all over me. I grabbed a cigar from the bowl and lit it, the smoke rising straight to the ceiling. I sank into the armchair with my elbow on the armrest. “You came here for a reason?” He grabbed a cigar for himself, probably to cover the stench I brought into the room. “Very little intel I was able to gather. His crew is pretty tight.” “But every man has a weakness. Wife. Kid. Deadly allergy…something.” “No wife. And he has no medical records, which tells me his ties to the underworld precede his birth.” So this guy was the real deal. “But.” “Ooh…I like the sound of that.” “He has a couple daughters.” “This just got interesting.” I rested my arm, the smoke rising to the ceiling and making my living room smell like an old chimney. “One is with him. One he’s been estranged from for seven years. They haven’t spoken once.” Now my interest was really piqued. “That sounds promising.” “I’m not sure if she’ll be much use to us. If they don’t speak, can we really use her as leverage?” “Depends on why they stopped speaking.” Bleu answered the unspoken question. “No idea. I only came across her existence by accident. He really scrubbed her from his life, like he doesn’t want anyone to know she exists.” I puffed another cloud of smoke from my mouth. “Where is she now?” He handed the black folder to me. “In Paris, actually.” “You don’t say…” I opened the folder and found a large photo. It was a young woman with deep brown hair, skin that looked like olive oil. I could taste it on my tongue as I stared. Her eyes were the color of espresso with a dollop of cream in the center. Plump lips like clouds, painted a muted pink. “She’s a personal shopper. Has a lot of high-end clients.” “As in, she shops for people?” “Yes.” I flipped the page and found another picture. It was a full-body photo, her stepping out of a café with a coffee in hand. She wore a long-sleeved dress with knee-high boots, a purse dangling in the crook of her elbow. I didn’t say this a lot, but I said it now. “Damn.” “She has an office in the city.” I flipped through more pictures, growing more impressed with every image. “I’ll have to stop by.” “Should I get the team together?” he asked. “We can grab her when she leaves her office.” “There’s a chance she’s being watched. Italian men don’t usually abandon their family.