Devil Mine: A Dark Cartel Romance (London Underworld Book 1)

Over the next few weeks, we settle into the happiest part of our marriage so far. Thiago works mostly from home so that when I come home from the office, he’s there to greet me. Belongs to NôvelDrama.Org - All rights reserved.

After some maneuvering and negotiations with other board members, Tristan and I successfully ousted my father out of the CEO position. My brother was never interested in taking over the role so he breathed a major sigh of relief when I stepped in.

It’s been chaotic and hectic, the most grueling weeks of work I’ve ever had because of the state my father left the company in. It’s also been the best weeks of work. I’m excited for the challenge ahead, for fixing the years of bad decision making and poor strategy with him at the helm. 

When I’m not working, I’m spending time with my husband. We still meet in the middle of the night for ice cream, although this time we go down to the kitchen together, holding hands and giggling like we’re teenagers. He still claims not to like ice cream, but he downs half a pint every time I bring it out. I should specify that he likes to put it in my mouth first, then kiss me and lap it into his own mouth with his tongue. He says it’s just an excuse to kiss me, but he’s still eating the ice cream, so it counts.

He takes me on dates, to restaurants like he does to business dinners and events. I’m turning into quite the mafia wife, something I never thought I’d say even six months ago. I meet more of his allies and witness the burgeoning relationship with Matteo Leone and his second-in-command and cousin, Enzo Leone. They’re getting close to finding out what happened to Adriana. It’s in the air, that feeling that they’re closing in. I know that once Thiago has resolution on that front, once he can finally put her to rest and mourn her, a colossal weight will be lifted off his shoulders.

Sometimes when we’re together, I see his gaze turn faraway. He seems like he disconnects from the present and travels to another point in time, maybe to another reality altogether. I watch over him carefully, letting him go for those precious moments where he thinks about his sister. He always comes back, always with a bemused expression on his face like he only noticed he was gone because he comes abruptly back into his body. And I’m always there with a comforting touch and an encouraging word, ready to listen. The more he tells me, the more I’m determined to help him.

So I do in the only way I know how right now – I pour over the hundreds, if not thousands, of documents he gave me. Adrenaline carries me through the hours upon hours of research. I’m looking for patterns, for recurring payments made specifically to the list of vendors Thiago provided who said they hadn’t been paid when there were clear transactions listed in the financial documents to the contrary.

After weeks of work, I narrowed it down to a few dozen transactions I felt comfortable classifying as being shady for a variety of reasons. They were all made to vendors who either claimed not to have been paid or whose services I couldn’t trace. Some of them were also made on dates when I knew Thiago was out of the country because he’d been in Rome looking for me. Finally, they were also all payments handled by one accountant. From the digging I’d done, that man, Jorge Diaz, seemed to be based back in Colombia. That in it of itself was odd – all of the cartel’s UK finances went through London-based accountants. The fact that these transactions weren’t was clear proof that they were dodgy in some way.

I hadn’t told Thiago about this discovery yet. I knew that the moment I did, he’d take a ‘kill first and ask questions later’ approach which, while I’m sure would be very effective, wouldn’t give us the answers of who was behind this. The accountant was just the money mover, but someone else was calling the shots and putting this plan into action.

Someone close.

Last night, Thiago told me that he was being called away from London this evening to meet with a new supplier. It’s not the first time we’ve been apart obviously, but it is the first time since we got married that he’s traveling and isn’t in the same city. I don’t know why, but something about that gives me anxiety. I have no reason to be wary and yet the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end knowing he isn’t immediately close by if I need him.

To distract myself, I’m pouring over those remaining documents to get to the bottom of who is behind all this. There has to be a trace somewhere, I refuse to believe whoever did this could cover their tracks entirely.

I’m on my third hour staring at this paperwork and I’m starting to get cross eyed.

Time for a well deserved break.

I pick up my phone and head into the kitchen. It’s late, so the staff has either gone home or to bed, leaving me alone for the night.

My stomach rumbles loudly. My cooking abilities stretch about as far as making a semi-decent grilled cheese, so that’s what I set out to make. I consider calling Thiago but then think better of it. He’s probably in a meeting, working, and the last thing he needs is his wife bothering him.

So I call the next best person.

“Hello, hot stuff,” Dagny answers, in a bra and nothing more. “Oh God, there’s a pan in your hand. What culinary atrocity are you about to unleash on that poor, unsuspecting husband of yours?” She pauses to think about it. “Actually, I take that back. Give him food poisoning, he deserves it.”

“First of all, I’ve cooked things for you in the past that you liked–”

“I was understudy for the lead role in my senior year play, believe me, I pulled on that experience to get me through.”

“Second of all, he’s not here. He’s traveling for work.”

“Out shooting some more innocent bystanders perhaps?” She laughs when she sees the look on my face. “I’m kidding, Tessie. They’re so easy to make, it’s hard for me to pass up.”

“You’re entitled to a lifetime of jokes on the subject.”

She snorts. “You should have told me you were alone tonight, I would have come over for a sleepover.”

I pause mid-flip of my grilled cheese and it lands on the counter.

“Wow, if I’d recorded that you could have gone viral.”

“Is it too late for a sleepover?”

Her face falls. “Yeah, I’m sorry. I wish I’d known earlier. I have that bridal client coming to the store next week so I’m prepping some initial designs for her to react to.”

“Send them to me when you’re done, I’d love to see them.” I pick the sandwich off the counter and take a bite. “Delicious,” I say, sticking my tongue out at her.

“I will! Are you still going through the financial reports?”

“Slowly but surely.”

“Find anything good?”

“I think so. I just can’t find who yet.”

“You will.” Her tone is easily confident. “People get cocky and then they get lazy, especially when they think they’re getting away with it.”

Something about her words makes me realize that I’ve been narrow minded in my search. The answer isn’t going to live solely in a financial report. I need to look where people are much more likely to mess up – email.

“Dags, I’ve got to go.”

Her mouth flattens sympathetically. “It’s the grilled cheese isn’t it?”

“Wha– no, it’s not. You’re the worst, goodbye,” I say with a laugh, hanging up.

The sandwich long forgotten, I rush back into the living room where I’d previously been sprawled on the floor with the documents all around me. I shuffle the papers around looking for Jorge Diaz’s emails but remember I didn’t print them out because there were hundreds, if not thousands. I open my computer and start pouring through them there.

And then I find it.

Lady luck shows up on my side tonight because it only takes me about fifteen minutes. It’s an email to him confirming one of the payments I now know to be fraudulent. I’m stunned into silence at the discovery. I can’t believe that after all these weeks I’ve finally found the evidence I’ve been looking for. It feels both like a significant moment and also weirdly anticlimactic. It’s only an email. Part of me had expected a dramatic reveal culminating in the traitor would be unmasked, not me sitting alone on my living room floor.

When I see who authored the email and sent it, my blood runs cold in my veins. I can’t believe it. I wouldn’t if there wasn’t proof in my hands written in his own words, confirming what he’s done.

This is a betrayal that’ll rock Thiago to his core.

Someone he trusted above almost any other. Someone who’s been at our dining table, who we’ve drank with, who’s smiled in our faces while stabbing us in the back.

My heart breaks at the perfidy of it all.

This is going to change everything.

I need to tell Thiago, now. 

All of a sudden, it doesn’t matter if he’s in a meeting or working. I can’t hold on to this information without letting him know. If Thiago is with him, he could be in danger.

“Shit.” I curse out loud when I realize I left my phone in the kitchen.

I run back there and find it where I left it on the counter when I hung up with Dagny. My screen is unlocked and my thumb is hovering over Thiago’s name when someone reaches over my shoulder and snatches the phone right out of my hand.

Fear slams into me. I didn’t hear anyone come in. Didn’t know I wasn’t alone. It morphs quickly into dread when I turn and come face to face with dark, cruel eyes.

How I ever thought this man was trustworthy is beyond me. Staring into his eyes now, I see him for the ruthless, remorseless traitor that he is.

“You.”

“Me.” He says it almost arrogantly, like he’s proud of what he’s done.

I don’t have to wonder how he got in here, he has the keys. Thiago never considered the threat might be quite this close to home, and neither did I.

“Give me back my phone.”

He grins, sharp teeth on display. “I’m afraid I can’t do that. Can’t have you telling your husband what you’ve discovered. You really should have kept out of this and minded your own fucking business.” He looks down as he pockets my phone before his gaze lifts icily back up to mine. “Now I’m going to have to deal with you.”

The dread moves up my chest and to my throat where it cuts off my air supply.

“Thiago will kill you.”

He laughs. “He won’t know it was me.”

He slams his fist into the side of my face and I crumple to the ground. The last thing I see before I pass out are his black shoes nearing my face.