Everleigh Davenport. That had been her name. She’d been born to a wealthy man—a man Mr. Vicolette hated. But he hadn’t hated her. The sick fuck loved her. Even at the tender age of ten, when he’d had her taken and brought here—an act that almost had my father killing him. That wasn’t how we worked. We acquired our own slaves. We were responsible for their disappearances. No one else. Yet, my father pardoned him and allowed the girl to stay. He even had her parents killed at a hefty price to Mr. Vicolette. But it had to be done. There were no loose ends when you ran the world’s largest
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