Twilight Mask: A Dark Mafia Romance by B. B. Hamel

Author:B. B. Hamel [Hamel, B. B.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2024-09-07T00:00:00+00:00

I wake up early the next morning. Valentina’s still sleeping, which is exactly the biggest surprise in the world. I head into the kitchen and make myself some coffee, and I’m groggy as I log into Laura’s camera system on my phone. I flip from spot to spot, but she’s not in the basement or in the kitchen, and she’s not anywhere in her room where her laptop can see her.

Jackal: Are you hiding from me, little demon? If you go where the cameras can’t see you, I’m going to break into your house and install even more.

I hit send and smile to myself as I start on breakfast. The only surefire way to get Valentina’s ass off my couch is to wake her up with bacon. Anything less and she’ll lounge around until noon.

The bacon’s sizzling nicely, but there’s no response from Laura. I check the cameras a second time, and everything’s exactly as I left it. I linger on the laptop feed and stare at the room: her bed is made and I can tell her shower is still damp. Which means she’s awake and showered already, but it’s only a little past eight in the morning.

Where is my girl going?

I’m too curious. I grab my laptop from my office and set it up on the island as I cook. Since I hacked her phone and cloned its SIM data, I can tap into her tracking information. It only takes a few minutes for my automated programs to start spooling data onto my screen, and a dot appears on a map of Chicago. I zoom in, frowning, and zoom in again, and a cold, sinking feeling fills my body.

That can’t be right. I double-check the information, triple-check, go over every little detail, but nothing changes.

Laura’s phone is inside my building.

I can’t tell where she is exactly. The tracking doesn’t give me that much detail. I’m on the top floor, and she could be anywhere nearby. But that’s not possible—there’s no way she knows that Jackal lives here.

I’ve been careful. She hasn’t seen my face. And even if she did, that wouldn’t necessarily give her enough information to track down where I live. My head’s spinning and I forget all about breakfast until the smell of burning bacon fills the kitchen. I yank the pan off the heat, cursing, on the edge of panic.

Valentina’s sleep voice floats in from the living room. “Are you cooking? Smells like it burned.”

I’m about to tell her everything’s fine when someone knocks on the door.

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