Harlow was the one going after Val. That was obvious at this point. But what wasn’t obvious was how he was planning to do that, and it frustrated her to no end that she had just lost her best source of information to the over cautious Edwards.
And what was up with Belladonna?
Beautiful woman? There were no beautiful women around. Spencer seemed to think she was beautiful, but she obviously wasn’t working for Harlow or any of them. There were the secretaries at work and the maids in the house, but they barely spoke to Valentine, if ever. And she knew them—they were all fiercely loyal, all of them willing to praise Val to no end, even when there was no chance of him finding out about what they said. And there was Ellen, but she was Ellen. Very beautiful, definitely not evil.
Serena groaned and threw herself on the bed. She would have to talk to someone about this soon. Someone who would know what to do. Ellen, maybe. Or Jacques.
She sat up suddenly.
Jacques. Jacques was still here, chatting away downstairs. He would know what to do, wouldn’t he?
Serena began pulling on her pumps. It was worth a shot.
*****
Serena ran down the stairs, grasping the rails as best she could so she wouldn’t trip over her massive heels. She had to find Jacques. Something big was happening, she could just feel it, and if she didn’t find Jacques, who knows what would happen. All she knew was that it would be something terrible.
She caught sight of Ellen tidying up a rose plant in the corner and swept towards her. “Ellen!”
“Sweetheart?” Ellen asked, turning to her.
“Ellen, quick, this is important,” she said, breathless. “Have you seen Jacques? I need to know where he is.”
“Mr. Lepin? Hm. I think I saw him in the dining room, chatting to a few of those jewelry heiresses. Or was it oil heiresses? Dear me, I can never remember.”
“Thank you, Ellen,” Serena called, gathering her skirts in her hand. “You have no idea how much I needed to hear that.” Serena turned on her heel and ran off, no longer pretending everything was normal. Every moment seemed as if it was one moment closer to the end of the world. She didn’t even turn around to see Ellen’s confused, concerned expression. All she could think of was Jacques and her pressing need to speak with him. Val could be in danger, and she couldn’t stand that.
She made it to the dining room in record time, keeping her skirts heaved up above her massive heels. Jacques was exactly where Ellen had said he would be: leaning on the dining room wall, chatting to two platinum blondes in matching domino costumes. Serena pushed past them, ignoring the stares and grumbles of people around here. She barely heard them.
“Jacques,” she called.
Jacques turned his head, glancing to his side. When he caught site of Serena, his face broke into a huge smile.
“Why, if it isn’t Screamer!”
“Screamer?” mumbled one blonde to another.
“Jacques, please, we need to talk.”
“We are talking,” he said, grabbing himself another glass of wine from a passing waiter’s plate.
“Jacques, please, this is important. Do you have a minute.”
“You know I have a billion minutes for you,” he said, his words a little slurred. “Excuse me, ladies,” he said, bowing to the two heiresses. They giggled as Jacques grabbed Serena’s arm and began leading her away.
“Jacques,” Serena whispered harshly. “Jacques, I need you to be serious. This is important!”
“What, Screamer?” he said jovially, swirling his wine around in his glass. The giggling women had wandered off, leaving them in their private corner. Jacques didn’t seem to have a problem with it, still smiling, almost giddy. Serena saw a slight glaze in his eyes. His smile was wider than normal.
Shit. He was totally drunk. What if he couldn’t pay attention? What if he couldn’t remember? What if he passed out? The last thing she needed right now was her only true ally drunk off his ass at the one moment she truly needed him.
They found a quieter place near the large window looking out into the garden. Serena glanced out it, crossing her arms. She wasn’t quite sure what to ask first, so she went with the obvious one. Maybe he already knew about it.
“Have you been talking to Spencer and Edwards?”
Jacques became silent. His expression was strange.
“Why do you ask?” he said.
“Do you know who they are?”
“Only slightly, only from what Val has told me,” he said, sipping his wine soberly. He kept his gaze out the window, watching the twinkling lights and the couples in tuxedos and gowns flooding out onto the lawn.
“So you don’t … associate with them at all?”
Jacques snorted. “Why would I?” His smile came back and he looped an arm around her waist. “Say, Screamer, you sure you don’t want to dance? I’m a fabulous dancer. Can’t say Jacques won’t be jealous, but, then again, I’d be jealous of me too.”
“Jacques, please,” she pleaded. “This is serious.”
He sighed. “Alright. What?”
Serena considered him. She might as well come out with it before he was totally smashed on the wine.
“I need you to tell me what Belladonna is.”
Jacques’ expression changed in an instant. The half-drunk flirty Jacques she had spoken to a moment ago disappeared, replaced by a man with a black expression and a furious glare.
“Serena,” Jacques hissed. “I can’t talk about this here!”
“But Jacques—”
He grabbed her arm, dragging her off away from the crowd. He pushed past the server doors, pulling her into the clean, fluorescent-lit kitchen. With a wave of his hand, he sent away the remaining waiters who had been chatting and filling their plates with food. Serena grabbed her arm back, rubbing where he had grabbed her. She wondered where friendly Jacques had gone, watching him pace around the kitchen while running his hands through his hair with an irritated look.
“Serena, you need to forget about that,” he said. “Why are you even bringing it up? Who talked about it?”
“Spencer,” she said. “The man Val had over for dinner last night. He said something about Belladonna, about it being used to hurt Val. Jacques, what’s going on?”
Jacques groaned in frustration. “Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Serena, you need to forget about this.”
“I can’t!” she cried. “Not if it’s going to hurt Val.”
“Drop it,” he ordered.
“If you don’t tell me, I’ll go through every person at this party asking what Belladonna is. You should probably tell me unless you want hundreds of people talking about Belladonna.”
He glared at her for a few moments. Then he threw his arms up and let out a string of profanities. Serena waited patiently for him to finish, keeping her arms crossed.
“You’re really not going to drop this, then?”
“Of course not,” she answered.
“Fine. Sit down. This is going to take a while.”
She took a seat on one of the polished counters. Jacques began digging through the cupboards, muttering something about needing something a little stronger to get through this.
“So. Belladonna and Harlow,” he said, pulling out a tall bottle of crystal clear vodka. “First things first: you cannot tell anyone about this. Not even Val. Remember what I told you that first morning, Serena—if Val knows either of us have discussed this, that’s the end. You’ll be sent away forever. And me?” He swallowed hard. “Shit, my head’ll be on a pike.”
She wasn’t sure if he was joking. She decided not to ask.
He began pouring himself a drink. “Second thing: how do you think Valentine became so rich, Serena? Any guesses?”
“He’s a businessman, isn’t he?”
Jacques snorted. “Of course he is. Any idea what his business is?”
“Um….” She considered it a moment. “I think he’s talked about real estate a little. And stocks. A few luxury car companie
s and a few deals with jewelry companies. I got the impression he does a little of everything.”
“Right,” he said, pouring himself some vodka. “But that’s now. I’m asking you how he became rich. The first thing he did.”
Serena shrugged. “I could never find that when I looked him up online. He just appeared out of nowhere a few years ago after turning in Harlow. I thought he got the money as a reward from the police or something.”
Jacques sighed. “Serena, honestly, how do you think someone gets so rich so fast? Nothing legitimate does that.”
“Not legitimate?”
“Of course not legitimate. Harlow and Val were business partners, remember Serena? Do you really think Harlow could get away with all those criminal projects without Val knowing?”
“You’re saying Val is….”
“I’m saying Val used to be.” Jacques frowned. “And what he used to be was a criminal. A serious one, too. Sure, it was just drug smuggling—he never ordered any murder or torture directly, as far as I know. But of course it went on. Especially when Harlow was in charge.”
“Drug smuggling?” Serena repeated.
“Yes, drug smuggling,” Jacques said, irritated. “It started off small, just a local thing that coordinated dealers. But fuck, the money was good. That was how Val and I met, you know? I was involved in a cartel, he was an up and coming cartel leader. I saw a lot of promise in him, even then. He was always a good businessman, even when his business was illegal.”
Serena sat back, astounded. She had always sensed there was some dark backstory to a man like Val, but she had never though it would be something like this. And God, that was who had Harry, wasn’t it? Drug smugglers. Val was exactly the kind of person who would have kidnapped her brother. He was no better than them, wasn’t he?
“No, don’t give me that look,” said Jacques. “Val changed. Which is why he turned around and turned in Harlow. Something happened, I don’t know what. One minute he’s kind of the largest drug cartel in America, the next he’s some kind of fucking boy scout, stabbing all his associates in the back and throwing them in jail. If he wasn’t so rich, he’d be dead by now. He’s pissed off a lot of important people.”
Serena furrowed her brow. “But what’s Belladonna? That still doesn’t explain any of it.”
Jacques sighed.
“Belladonna refers to the largest drug deal, the one that was nearly completed when Val turned in Harlow. I mean, this was more money than I’ll make in my lifetime. It was insane. And yet, at the last moment, Val turns around and destroys the whole cartel. The Belladonna files—the files that showed Val’s original participation in the deal—they were destroyed by our men just before he turned in Harlow. Thought it left him totally clean. He thought he got away free.”
“But he didn’t?”
“Of course not. Something always gets out, doesn’t it?” He sighed again, rubbing his temples. “Somehow, a copy got out. And for a while, we thought, ‘Okay, but Harlow’s in prison. He and his men can’t do a thing yet. And we don’t know if they even have it.’ But now he’s out, and he’s made it very clear that he very much does have them.”
Serena was silent for a few moments, watching Jacques sip his vodka. He suddenly looked like a very old, weary man. Outside, the muffled sounds of the party went on. She thought it was strange that everyone was so oblivious to the earthshattering revelations she was receiving at the moment. She felt as if the earth should really be shaking as much as it felt like to her.
“So that’s Harlow’s plan? To … what? Extort Val with the Belladonna files?”
“Yes, sort of. Harlow wants his business, his money, his everything. He’s trying to cut a deal that allows Val to get away with his life and a nice little stipend to allow him to live alone in a country home somewhere.”
“And Val’s not going for that,” she said flatly.
“Of course not. He’s Val. And if he doesn’t agree to this, Harlow is going with Plan B. First, destroy Val’s reputation by leaking the Belladonna files and letting everyone know he isn’t the innocent, virtuous hero everyone thinks he is. Second, destroy Val’s life by hiring a hit man. Won’t be that hard, either, considering how many people hate Val for destroying the drug smuggling rings.”
“Val’s dead,” Serena said flatly.
“He thought he burned the files,” Jacques groaned, shaking his head. “But he didn’t know that Harlow had a copy.” Jacques began to pour another drink, but paused. He looked at the bottle, then grabbed it and drank from it straight. He shuddered. “Harlow has the Belladonna files, and he can put Val in prison with a snap of his fingers. And then he’ll kill him. And Val isn’t treating it as seriously as he ought to—he thinks he’s gotten away with it, he thinks Harlow can’t do anything. If Val doesn’t meet with Harlow soon to negotiate, he’ll have signed his own death sentence.”
“You have to warn him, Jacques,” Serena said suddenly, running to him and grabbing his wrist. “You have to talk some sense into him!”
Jacques grabbed his hand away. “No! Serena, for Christ’s sake, you cannot tell him. You can’t even tell him I know, I’m not supposed to know any of this.” He hit the table with his fist. “God! Don’t you understand? You need to forget about this. The more you know, the more danger you’re in. The more danger we’re all in.”
“But I have to warn him…”
“Pretend you don’t know about it,” said Jacques. “Serena, I need you to promise me. You have to do this.” He leaned forward, his eyes more intense than anything she had ever seen. “The second Val knows you know this … that’s the second your relationship is over. Do you realize this?”
Serena’s eyes grew wide. “It’s really that serious?”
“Is it serious? For fuck’s sake, Serena, this is the most serious thing on earth right now!” He released her, turning away viciously and throwing his hands up. “Everything depends on this, everything can be destroyed by this. Jesus, I have no idea why I even told you, I should have known you’d never let it go.”
She was silent, watching him bury his face in his hands. After a few moments, he looked up.
“Serena, you have to promise me. Promise me you won’t ever speak to him about Belladonna. Promise you won’t let him know I know, or know that I told you this. Please, Serena. You have no idea how important this is.”
Serena lowered her gaze, defeated.
“I promise,” she whispered.
*****
Serena returned to the party in a daze. Everything felt like a dream. She wasn’t quite sure it was all real—the secrets Jacques had just told her, the fact that Val was in mortal danger, the fact that she was forbidden to speak about any of it. She wanted to run into the garden and scream as loud as she could, but even that was forbidden from her. People would want to know what was wrong, and what could she say? ‘I’m a sexual slave to a man I’m madly in love with, but who was also once a notorious criminal mastermind whose old business partner is returning to blackmail and murder him?’
Serena walked out to the main ballroom, amazed that none of the guests could see how totally shaken she was. She was sure she must be wearing it on her face.
“Ms. Nicoletti!” she heard someone cry.
Serena turned around to find one of the waiters coming for her, holding in his gloved hands a small note. He held it out for her with a worried look. “From Mr. Marquette.”
She bit her lip. “Did he say what it’s about?”
“It would be improper for me to say.”
She watched him rush away, her worry growing with every second. She found a secluded corner next to a buffet table. Her eye caught sight of a silver knife, and the picked it up, using it to cut open the seal.
She unfolded it, the thick, rich paper smooth under her hand. She recognized the elegant handwriting script:
Meet me in the garden. Now.
Serena swallowed hard. He knew. He must know. Otherwise, why would he be calling her? And could sh
e really keep her secret when she was right there in front of him? Inside, she knew it was impossible, but it’s not as if she had a choice.
She had to try. Here goes nothing.
Serena picked up her skirts and rushed to the garden, a mix of apprehension and desperation. She needed to talk to him, but she was also terrified to. She searched the gardens for a few moments, exploring the twinkling lights and flowered paths, once again fearing she would get lost. The grounds really were massive, even more than they looked from the outside.
She found a stone bench by the rose garden and sat down, rubbing her feet. Val would be so mad when she didn’t show up. Why hadn’t she just found Ellen and asked where he was?
“Serena,” said a dark voice from in the garden.
Serena jumped up, her heart racing. Val appeared out of the shadows of a garden pathway, still impeccably dressed in his tuxedo, his dark eyes fixed on her. Her heart fluttered. The things he could do to her, even in the midst of danger.
“So, Serena. You seem worried.”
She looked up at him with wide eyes, her eyelashes fluttering. “I’m sorry, Sir.”
“You should be,” he said, plucking a rose from a nearby bush. He approached her and tucked it behind her ear. “Someone as beautiful as you shouldn’t ruin her beauty with so many frowns. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, Sir.”
“Ellen told me you were looking for Mr. Lepin?”
Ellen. She should have known. Hadn’t Ellen seemed strange when she had asked her where Jacques was?
“Yes, Sir,” she said, clasping her hands. For a moment, she thought of tracking down Ellen and giving her what for, but that thought was dashed away in a moment. Ellen was Ellen. There was no way Serena could ever speak to her like that.
“And why is that, Serena?” asked Val. “What’s so urgent that you had to see him? Are you two plotting something?”
Plotting something? She frowned.
“No, Sir. I had to ask Mr. Lepin about something.”
Temptation: a billionaire erotic romance Page 8
