Page 18 of Let Sleeping Vampires Lie

His voice was urban-smooth, calm, charming—everything Isra had fallen for.

Everything that made this moment harder.

Raven rose from the couch, and Con straightened like a blade being drawn.

I took a breath.

The truth we came here for was about to tear through all of us.

Con stepped forward first. His stance was calm but unmistakably authoritative, the kind of presence that filled a room without raising a voice.

“What do you do for a living, Marcus?” he asked.

Marcus didn’t look at him right away. His focus stayed on Isra, fingers still resting gently against his partner’s cheek. Only when Con’s silence stretched did he lift his head.

“My concern is Isra,” Marcus replied. “Not my business dealings.”

His tone held a polite edge, the kind used by men who were used to closing conversations, not opening them.

Isra swallowed, finally meeting Marcus’ eyes. “Answer him.”

Marcus froze. The request clearly affected Marcus. After a long moment, he exhaled and stood, smoothing a hand down the front of his coat.

“Fine,” he said, sounding resigned. “I’m in import and export. Mostly high-end items. Art pieces, rare antiques, sometimes unique goods for private collectors.”

The explanation drifted into a practiced rhythm, each detail crisp and well-rehearsed. “My parents built the foundation years ago. I grew the modern side—authentication, logistics, transport. It’s legitimate. You can look at my business licenses, my contracts, my taxes.”

He glanced around the room as if expecting us to relax.

None of us did.

Raven watched him with narrowed eyes. Jana hugged her arms around herself. Isra’s expression didn’t soften; it only grew more strained.

Con took a single step closer. “What kind of rare antiques?”

Marcus didn’t miss the shift in tone.

“Old manuscripts. Sculptures. Jewelry with historical value. Items that require discreet shipping because of their age or fragility.” He lifted his chin slightly. “Nothing illegal.”

Con wasn’t satisfied. “And overseas work? Why so many trips?”

Marcus shrugged. “Because clients are everywhere. You can’t run an international business from a single city. I visit warehouses, oversee packaging, meet with collectors.”

“Collectors of what?” I asked quietly.

He looked at me then, really looked. “Collectors of expensive items,” he said with a small smile. “Nothing supernatural.”

His voice held the right cadence. His explanations were smooth. His body language seemed relaxed.

But something was wrong.

Not a lie, not exactly.

More like he was speaking carefully, choosing each word with carefully.

Con noticed it too. His eyes sharpened.

“Have you ever worked with Dimitri Galloway?” he asked.