Page 20 of Mr. Wilde

She’s not wrong.

“Just talk to her. She says it’s urgent.”

“They all say that.” I bark.

Loretta arches one perfectly groomed brow. “She also said she’s been told you can help her with a delicate situation.”

My jaw tightens. This could mean practically anything. But the way she phrased that statement has caused my curiosity and paranoia to play tug of war. “Put her through.”

The woman’s smooth, sophisticated voice pours through the receiver. It’s the kind that’s used to being taken seriously. “My husband has been cheating on me for some time,” she says without preamble. “I need you to access his email, social media, phone records. Follow him if nec⁠—”

“No!” I don’t let her finish.

There’s a pause. Then a small, incredulous laugh. “I have it on good authority that if anyone can catch this despicable asshole, it’s you.”

I close my eyes, trying to rein in my annoyance. How had this socialite gotten through to my direct line? “Let me be clear. I’m not a private investigator. And I don’t hack into personal accounts for divorce leverage.”

She talks over me. “This isn’t about alimony.”

Sure it isn’t.

I lean back in my chair, rubbing my temples. I’m not interested in becoming a hotline for rich women trying to take their husbands to the cleaners.

Then her voice drops, her words sending red hot rage through my veins. “He’s abusing girls.”

My fingers still on the desk.

“Teenage girls. I don’t know the specifics, but I found pictures. These aren’t some online photos. I recognize his hands, his shoes… I can tell he’s there with them.” Her voice breaks, and I sit up taller in my chair. “This isn’t about revenge. It’s about stopping him. Before one more child gets hurt. And teenagers or not, it seems evident to me, these girls are still children.”

Heat floods my face. I pull at my collar, suddenly unable to breathe. “You’re making a serious accusation.”

“I’m telling you the truth.”

Silence stretches between us.

I decide to end the call before I can say something that would put me, my company, or her in danger. “Someone will be in touch.” I disconnect the call. There’s no need to ask for her contact information. I’ll do a deep dive into our company phone records, and hers, tomorrow.

I stare at my screen, trying to calm the storm brewing inside me. Once upon a time, hacking was a party trick. A way to help my friends. Fix their love lives. Play the part of a digital magician.

Then it slowly morphed into a way to offer protection. Monitoring the dark web to protect Gianni and his cousins, Luca and Matteo. Keeping tabs on the monster their crime boss father had become once they walked away from the family organization. Okay, so he was always a monster. But his venom was focused outside of his own family until they made it clear they wanted nothing more to do with him.

Somewhere along the way, I convinced myself I was still the good guy. That I needed to step up to help. It was a matter of justice. But I built a billion-dollar security company while quietly putting it all at risk for my own sick need for retribution. And now this.

Teenage girls.

I rub a hand over my jaw, trying to convince myself to let this go. But it’s useless. I know there’s nothing I can do or say to talk myself out of going after this man.

My mind wanders to that carefree summer two years ago. Familiar giggles filling the air as we race each other on jet skis, her long blonde hair whipping in the wind. My chest tightens. If only I’d known then…

I quickly redirect my thoughts before they spiral out of control. One way or another, I’m finding out if this woman is telling the truth.

And if she is, this bastard is finished.

I check my watch:

3:00 p.m.

I need a drink. Or five. Maybe the whole damn bottle.