Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 86768 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86768 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
“No, not tonight or tomorrow night.” I must look relieved because he continues, “You don’t have to be afraid of him anymore, Madelena. He won’t come near you.”
“I know what you did to him,” I say after a long minute.
He studies me but doesn’t add anything.
“Why did you do it?” I ask.
“Because he hurt you and he needed to be punished.”
“Because he touched what’s yours?”
His forehead creases momentarily, but he smiles a small smile. “Because he hurt you. Period.”
I don’t know how to respond.
“I need to get changed,” he says.
I stop him, finally registering what he’d said a minute ago. “How did you know my uncle was better liked than my father?”
He waits a beat. “It’s not hard to be better liked than Marnix De Léon. There’s a difference between being tolerated and liked.”
“But how did you know? You’d have to be involved in their lives to know such a detail.”
I’m not sure if I imagine it or if his jaw tenses. “History between the Augustines and the De Léons goes back many years. I know details about your family you probably never will.”
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing. Drop it.” He checks his watch.
It takes all I have to keep my face neutral, to not ask him what he was doing at my uncle’s house on the night he died. But I can’t do that. Not yet. Not until I know more.
I wonder again who sent me that photo, who wanted me to know that he was there, at the scene of the crime. Santos has enemies, I know that he must, but this is my family we’re talking about.
“I should warn you that you may know Caius’s date,” he says.
“Why would I care about Caius’s date? Answer my question, Santos.” I assume he’s trying to change the subject.
“It’s Ana Hollis,” he says, watching my reaction.
“Ana?” Hearing her name catches me completely off guard.
He nods.
“Why? How does he even know Ana?”
He shrugs a shoulder. “Met at the club probably.”
Why would Caius be with Ana? Why would he bring her here? I can imagine the stories she’s told him about me, the things he’ll tell Santos.
And just like that, it’s like I’m back in high school again.
“I’ll change and we’ll go. Just wanted you to be prepared,” Santos says. He’s already told me he knows everything about me, and I’m starting to believe him.
Santos changes into a more formal dark suit than the one he wore during the day, and we ride down on the elevator with two men. Once we get to the banquet hall, the soldiers enter and stand near the double doors. I can pick them out around the room, too. They’re dressed like guests, but they look off. No one would notice at a quick glance, but once you see that subtle difference, it’s hard to unsee it.
“Why do you always have soldiers around?” I ask Santos as we enter, his hand warm and possessive on my lower back.
“When you’re in the business we’re in, you need bodyguards.” He nods a greeting to someone across the room as he says it.
“When you’re a criminal, you mean?” I ask with a smile painted on my face, recognizing one of my uncle’s business associates, Joseph Lowe. I get the feeling he was waiting for me, as he disentangles himself and his wife from the couple he’s talking to and makes his way toward us.
“Exactly,” Santos says, trailing his hand up my bare back, his touch leaving goosebumps in its wake. “Just like your father.” He turns to me. “When you’re as powerful as we are, your hands are never all that clean.” He leans in to kiss my cheek. “Be good,” he warns.
“Madelena,” Mrs. Lowe says, the couple coming to stand before us. I vaguely remember them from parties my uncle held at the house, a few of which took place when Odin and I were spending weekends with him, especially those at Christmas. “How are you, dear? It’s been so long,” she says, leaning to touch her cheeks to mine.
“Since the funeral,” I say, making her immediately uncomfortable even though that’s not my intent. It’s just the truth. We had no reason to see each other. I’d been fifteen when my uncle died.
“Congratulations to you both, Mr. Augustine,” Mr. Lowe says quickly, smiling to Santos. He extends his hand.
Santos takes it. This is why we’re here, after all. From conversations I’ve overheard, Mr. and Mrs. Lowe’s money funds a chunk of the company. “Thank you,” Santos says. “And call me Santos, please.”
“Santos. I hear you’ll be joining the board of De Léon Enterprises.”
I glance at Santos. I’m not surprised, am I?
“News travels fast,” he says as I watch him. He’s relaxed and casual. “I’ll be offering my guidance and direction.”
“Is it true the De Léon name will be erased altogether to become Augustine Media?” he asks, with a pointed look in my direction.