Demand (Careless Whispers #2)(65)

“?‘No matter what that means’?” I repeat. “What does that mean? What did he tell you about me and us?”

“Nothing we can’t deal with,” he promises, lacing his fingers with mine and leading me down the hallway.

I let him, asking nothing else, dread becoming a living, breathing monster I cannot escape. I’m not going to like what he tells me.

We enter the bedroom and he shuts the door, releasing my hand. I walk to the chair by the bed and sit down. I can’t explain why, but my heartbeat is now slow and steady. I am calm, icy even, like I’ve shut down my mind and emotions. No doubt it’s an extension of my amnesia. Kayden shrugs out of his jacket and tosses it on the arm of the chair, settling on a knee in front of me, his hands resting on my legs.

“Easy, sweetheart,” he says, catching my legs, which seem to be trembling. Okay, maybe I’m not so calm. “I told you everything is fine.”

“What did he tell you about me?”

“He knew your name and how you connected with him, and not much more.”

“My first and last names?”

“No. He just knows you as Ella.”

“That’s all? Just . . . Ella?”

“That’s not all. You went to him for help.”

“What does that mean?”

“You were trying to escape the other man. You met Niccolo and knew he was very powerful. You wanted escape and safe passage, but Niccolo does nothing without a price.”

“He wanted the necklace and knew I had it.”

“He didn’t know you had it. You somehow figured out that he, like the man you were living with, wanted it.”

“So this other man was using me for the necklace.”

“Niccolo says he believes that was how it started, but that you became property.”

A dark sensation claws at my chest. “Yes. I was his property, and he doesn’t let his property be taken from him.”

“Do you know who he is, Ella?”

I wet my dry lips. “No. I still don’t.”

“The head of the French mafia.”

Ice fills my veins. “Sasha said the French mafia is run by Niccolo’s stepbrother.”

“That is correct.”

“That’s how I know French. I came here to escape Paris.”

“That’s correct, too, and where my mind went last night when you started speaking French.”

“Sasha told me the two stepbrothers killed their parents.”

“It’s widely believed that they did, though they deny it. The murders divided the mafias again, and the reluctant brothers became enemies, each looking for a way to destroy the other. In the position you were in, you were smart enough to know that Niccolo was one of your only ways out.”

“Going from one mobster to another was smart? That doesn’t even compute.”

“The good news is that he is motivated to deny his brother anything he wants, including you.”

“And the necklace I still can’t remember. You aren’t saying his name. You can say his name. Please say it and make me remember it.”

His lips thin, but he doesn’t deny me my request. “Garner Neuville.”

“Garner Neuville,” I repeat, drawing a hard breath and then letting it out. “I know his name, but nothing else comes to me. I still can’t remember. I need a picture.” I grab my phone to Google him.

He takes my phone. “I have photos, but do you really want to see him right now? Are you ready to remember? Because I’ve worked things out with Niccolo. There is no imminent threat.”

“Until Neuville shows up.”

“Neuville will not step in Niccolo’s territory. Niccolo is the stronger brother, which is why Neuville wants the money that necklace represents, and why Niccolo doesn’t want him to have it.”

“I’m done fearing unknown monsters that are about to jump out at me from around every corner, Kayden. I want my enemy to have a face and a name.”

He hesitates and then reaches behind me, removing a folder from his jacket. “We’re going to do this slowly.”

“I don’t want to go slowly,” I object. “Just show me the *’s photo.”

He hands me a photo of an expensive-looking gray stone building. “What is this place?”

“His home,” I bite out. “In Paris. There’s a view of the Eiffel Tower outside his bedroom window.”

He replaces that shot with one of a black Mercedes, and I say, “One of his cars. Kayden—”

“Who is this man?” he asks, handing me a photo of a dark-haired, athletic-looking man.

“I don’t know him.” I glance at Kayden. “Should I?”

“He’s been showing a photo of a red-haired woman around Paris.”

“He’s looking for me.”

“It would seem that way, which means he’ll know who you are. I’m trying to find him.”

“Ferguson,” I whisper, the name coming to me from out of nowhere.

Kayden’s brow furrows. “The man is Ferguson?”

“No. That’s my last name. But there are tons of Fergusons, and my identity has been wiped out.”

“We will find you with that last name. I promise you.”