Chapter 9: Codename: Blackheart Chapter Nine

After we all sit down and eat breakfast, I head back up to my room to have a quick shower before training with Mum. I may whine and act like a baby when it comes to them pushing me to train, but they’re not wrong for wanting to make sure I’m at my best. I can’t shake the feeling that this year things aren’t going to be as smooth as the last few years, and that’s saying a lot because the last few have been savage. 

Walking back into my room, I give myself a quick stretch, trying to loosen up all the muscles I worked out fighting with my dad. Just looking at me this is not what you’d expect my room to look like. I won’t lie, opulent is a good word to describe my bedroom.

A wall sections off a third of the room, and against it is a king-size bed with sheets of gold and beige on a champagne rug protecting tan wood floors. I have all the essentials, such as a chest of drawers, a sofa, a coffee table, a mirror, and 52” plasma TV. I even have a small office area. It’s luxurious, no doubt, but I save the opulence for the stunning blue and gold crystal chandelier. I also have an ensuite and a lavish walk-in closet on the other side of the dividing wall. I’d tell you how much all of this cost, but then I’d just be bragging.

Don’t let the tattoos, blood and violence fool you. My taste is very eclectic. You should see my apartment in Italy. It’s vastly different. That place is all blacks and purples; with more of a gothic feel to it. Having so many places is fun, it means I can live out all my different aesthetic fantasies and never have to commit to any of them. 

I walk over and begin opening the cream-coloured curtains opposite my bed when my phone starts to ring. I guess my holiday is officially over. I walk over to my desk, picking up the Bluetooth and putting it in my ear while I check the caller ID. Pushing on my Bluetooth, I answer my phone.

“Miss Heart?” asks a familiar, American voice. I smile.

“Victor, I do believe it’s after midnight where you are. Do you not sleep?” I ask teasingly, earning a soft chuckle on the other end of the line.

“No rest for the wicked, as you well know,” he says in an amused voice. We are definitely wicked people, no question about that.

“That I do. What do you have for me?”

“A potential client wishes to have a sit-down meeting.”

“Name?”

“Peyton Grigoras.” 

I raise an eyebrow at the name. “The shipping magnate?” I inquire as I sit at my desk, opening my laptop. Once it fires up, I start searching ‘Peyton Grigoras’ online. 

“The very same, ma’am,” he confirms. Hmm, interesting. 

According to a brief search, Peyton Grigoras is fifty-five and is the fourth richest and most successful shipping magnate in the United States, who appears to be based out of New York City. Never married and no children, from what i can tell so far. If he’s reaching out to me, chances are that most of his millions did not come from legal shipping operations. A wealthy man doesn’t wake up one morning and decide to hire an assassin. No, they’ve been immersed in the criminal underworld for a while. After all, reaching out to me is no small feat. Either you have the connections to do so or you’re desperate, like in Mrs. Allard’s case. 

“Prepare my private dining room at Il Segreto in New York. Schedule the meeting for seven pm two days from now and follow my usual protocols,” I instruct.

“Everything will be ready for your arrival, ma’am. I look forward to seeing you. Have a good day,” he says pleasantly.

“Get some rest, I’ll see you in two days,” I tell him before disconnecting the call. Well, at least now I don’t have to do more training today, so that’s a bonus. 

Looking at pictures of Mr. Grigoras online, my brain is nagging at me that something about him is very familiar to me. I never forget a face. So while I’ve never met or dealt with this man, there’s something about him I can’t quite put my finger on. Hopefully, I’ll figure it out soon enough otherwise it’s going to really piss me off. Before I have a chance to dwell on it too much, I speed-dial Marcel. 

“Sweet pea?” Marcel answers in Romanian. You think I’d go crazy from bouncing between so many languages, but the switching is rather effortless.

“Hi Uncle Marcel. I’ve been called to New York for a meeting. Now, you know I’m more than happy to travel on my own, but I know you’d end up all grumpy if I didn’t run it by you first,” I tell him with a smile.

“I don’t have a grumpy bone in my body you cheeky little thing. When are you planning to leave?” he asks. 

I chuckle. “I called you first, then I’ll call and have the jet prepped. So I’ll be leaving in the next couple of hours.”

“I’ll let Vivienne know and meet you at the jet.”

“Marcel, you’re more than welcome to stay and spend time with your wife. You don’t have to join me every single time.” Truth be told, I love Marcel travelling with me, but I know how much Vivienne misses him. So I always feel, for her sake, I have to at least attempt to persuade him to stay behind.

“Vivienne understands. I’ll see you in a couple of hours,” he says with finality and hangs up before I have a chance to protest. I smile and take off my Bluetooth. After I call to instruct the jet to be prepped, I have a quick shower and then pack my suitcase. 

While I have no complaints about my lifestyle,  I do miss my family when I’m gone. Time with them always seems to be on fast forward, whereas being out on jobs always seems to go slowly. But would I trade my life for anything else? Not a fat chance. My life is more blessed than most because no matter where I go or what I do, I know that I will always have a home to come back to. Provided I don’t get killed.