The Devil’s Blood
Caden
My father’s name on that screen shouldn’t have surprised me.
It didn’t.
That was the worst part — sitting there at my desk looking at the IP address my security team had traced back to a device registered to Romano Voss, age seventy-one, residing at the Voss estate in Edina, twelve miles from where I was sitting — and feeling nothing except the particular exhaustion of a man who had spent his entire adult life cleaning up after the same source of damage.
My father had been a problem since before I knew what problems were.
Aria was staring at the screen with her mouth slightly open, putting pieces together behind her eyes, and I watched her get there and waited.
“He’s been watching this house,” she said.
“Yes.”
“Watching me.”
“Yes.”
“Why.” She looked up. “
