Blood Bound

GIOVANNI

The tiny clock on my desk chimed, indicating it was now 7 a.m.

That meant that I was now up for fourteen full hours, but I hardly felt it. Partly because I was running on frustration and a healthy amount of whiskey.

It seemed like, in the last few hours, I had spoken to every single person in Paris. Shaking anything shakeable in the hopes that some helpful information would drop out. But as if the universe was conspiring against me, I got absolutely nothing. On top of that, my father had been calling nonstop, obviously looking for answers that I didn’t have.

I groaned and pulled at my hair in frustration. It stung, but I welcomed the pain. I probably looked awful right now, but I didn’t give a fuck.

A sharp rap at the door shattered the tense calmness of my office, jolting me from my weary reverie. Irritation prickled at my senses; who dared disturb me at such an ungodly hour? I knew it wasn’t Stone. He’d been in and out of my office this morning—albeit with no answers of his