Page 76 of Lost Prince

When Henry calls and gives me Diana's whereabouts, I'm instantly on edge. Part of me wants to rush out immediately to find her, but doubt gnaws at me. Why did she leave so suddenly? Was it really just because she saw me with Ava? Or was there more to it?

Eventually, my longing wins out over my doubts. I grab my keys and head out, following Henry's intel to an apartment building across town. As I pull up, I see Diana exit from the building. My breath catches at the sight of her. She looks as beautiful as ever. I watch her, wondering if she’s happier without me. I think I see a weariness in her face that I hope means she misses me. Fucking hell, I’m such a dope.

She gets into her car, Lola, and I’m glad I’d tuned up the vehicle. Winter will be coming soon and she’ll need a safe ride. Like a lovesick puppy, I follow her a few blocks away where sheparks and goes into a small café. I continue to spy, watching her sitting alone, fidgeting nervously with a mug in front of her. Is she waiting for someone? The thought makes jealousy flare in my gut, even though I have no right to feel possessive of her anymore.

I debate with myself about whether to approach her or not. I want to rush in and sweep her into my arms. But another part holds back, unsure of my welcome after how she’d run off without a goodbye.

As I sit there wrestling with indecision, I watch a man enter the coffee shop and join Diana at her table. My hands clench the steering wheel. Who is this guy? And why is Diana meeting with him?

A tingle tickles the hairs on the back of my neck. I get out of my car and walk toward the café, hiding in the shadows to get a better look at this asshole through the window. An unsettling feeling washes over me. Something about this man triggers flashes of images. I’m in an alley… a man—no, several men—rush me, fists flying, the glint of a knife. Even now, I feel a searing pain as the blade slices across my temple, leaving the scar I now bear.

I shake my head of the images, needing to be in the present. I look at him again. The images fly through my brain… weak and barely conscious, rough hands grab me, throw me into a van. The faces of corrupt cops swim before my eyes, their voices filled with hate as they accuse me of killing one of their own. And then nothing.

My eyes refocus on Diana and the stranger in the coffee shop. Old instincts flare to life, warning me of potential danger. Is this man another threat? Fear grips me. What if Diana is in a similar danger right now? My eyes lock onto her and the stranger, scrutinizing their interaction. Is she being threatened? Coerced?Or worse, is she willingly collaborating with this man against my family?

I stride into the shop, trying to enter unnoticed. I strain to hear their conversation, catching snippets as their voices rise and fall. My blood runs cold as I hear Diana mention maternity leave. Jealousy and suspicion ignite within me. She’s pregnant? Is this fucker the father?

The possibilities swirl in my mind, each one more painful than the last. I can't stand it any longer. I move toward them, my emotions a volatile mix of anger, hurt, and jealousy.

“You and the baby will be well taken care of.” The man’s gaze shifts to me, and his eyes flicker with recognition. He knows me. And I know him.

Diana turns her head to look at where her partner’s attention is directed. At first, it seems like she’s happy to see me, but then her expression turns to fear. Good. Because I don’t take kindly to being used and betrayed.

"You," I snarl at her. "I should have known."

"Lazaro, what?—”

I cut her off, taking a step forward. "Save it. I know what you are now. A spy for this motherfucker."

She shakes her head in disbelief. "What? No. I’m on a job?—”

"Don't lie to me!" I roar, not caring that the few others in the café turn to stare. "It all makes sense now. How you always seemed to be there, always knew what to say. You were planted to keep an eye on me, on my family, weren't you?"

She looks at me like I’m a monster. Like I might hurt her. And that, the idea that she thinks I'd hurt her physically, cuts as deep as any knife.

The man watches me with concern, but also smugness. He’s enjoying this. It sends my rage into the stratosphere. “Tell me, Diana, does he know just how far you were willing to go for yourlittle undercover operation? Does he know how you fucked me? Sucked my cock?”

Diana gasps, her eyes filling with tears. "Lazaro?—”

"Save it. I'm not interested in your lies anymore." I turn back to the man… Peter Fucking Hartley, Chicago cop.

The smug look on his face fuels my anger. "You know that baby she's carrying? It could be mine. Not that I believe it for a second, but hey, who knows how deep her deception goes, right?"

The hurt in Diana's eyes is palpable. Guilt tries to worm its way in, but I’m too consumed by my own pain to let it.

“And him… I guess he’s told you, Diana, all about how he and cop buddies ambushed me. Beat me. Cut me. And left me for dead.”

She turns to Peter in shock and then back at me. "I honestly don't know what you're talking about. I’m here for a job?—”

“I don’t fucking care anymore.” I look at Peter. "Did you enjoy it? Watching me bleed out in the dirt, thinking you'd finally rid yourself of Lazaro D'Amato? Well, guess what, mother fucker, I’m alive. And soon, you won’t be."

“Lazaro.”

I look at Diana, searching her face for any sign of guilt or complicity. But all I see is confusion and fear. For a moment, doubt creeps in. Could I be wrong about this?

"Rumor was you didn't have a memory," Peter says, his tone dripping with condescension.

"Apparently, your ugly mug was too hideous to forget," I snarl back.