Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 70826 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 354(@200wpm)___ 283(@250wpm)___ 236(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70826 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 354(@200wpm)___ 283(@250wpm)___ 236(@300wpm)
Max is making calls to find out what’s going on. When he puts his phone down on the coffee table, he places his hand on my back and leans forward to see my face.
“I spoke with Director Koslov again, and he’s assured me there’s no longer any threat to your life.”
“That doesn’t matter,” I snap, suddenly overcome with a wave of anger. “What did you find out about my father?”
He moves closer to me while pulling me back to his chest. “He was pronounced dead at the scene. It was a clean shot to the head. He didn’t suffer.”
My face crumbles. “He didn’t suffer,” I repeat the words, though they don’t offer any comfort. “Papa,” I gasp as devastating heartache shudders through me.
Memories of Papa spill into my mind, and each one crushes my heart until there’s nothing left but unbearable pain.
His smile.
His laughter.
The way he looked at me with all the love in the world.
Sorrow overwhelms me, and every muscle in my body tightens. Uncontrollable sobs burst from me, and I soak Max’s shirt with my tears.
How am I supposed to go on without you, Papa?
“Baby,” Max groans, my pain echoing in his voice. “I’m so fucking sorry. Tell me what to do. How can I make this easier for you?”
It’s the first time I hear panic in his voice.
“It hurts so much,” I sob. “My heart. It feels like someone is trying to rip it from my chest.”
Max’s arms tighten around me until it borders on painful. He continuously presses kisses to my face and hair.
It feels like forever passes before the pain becomes a dull throb again. I feel numb otherwise. It’s as if all my will to live has left this realm with my father.
When I pull back, Max looks at me with worry etched deep into his face. “I know it feels like hell right now, but just hold out, baby. This coming week will be the hardest, but I’ll be with you every step of the way. You’re not alone in this.”
I can see he’s speaking from experience and know he’s referring to his own family he’s lost.
“I can’t believe he’s gone,” I admit. “What changed? Why did they go after him instead of me?”
“Because I’m with you, Cami. They knew they couldn’t get to you. They only had one option left.”
The realization sinks like burning coals into my stomach. Because I had Max, Papa became a target.
“Your father loved you more than anything, baby,” Max murmurs.
“I know,” I whimper, the heartbreaking tears overwhelming me once again.
While an assassin protected me, another took my father’s life.
Max made all the arrangements for us to return to France because I haven’t been able to think of anything but Papa.
Taking a private jet home, it feels like I’m stuck in perpetual heartache. No amount of crying is easing my pain.
How do I process my father’s death?
How do I carry on without him?
How do I say goodbye?
I can’t remember our last conversation. What did we say? Did I tell him I love him?
“Cami,” Max says as he takes my hand.
My eyes lift to his face, and it feels like I’m in a trance as I mumble, “Yes.”
“We’ve landed.” He takes hold of my chin and turns my face toward him. “I think we should stop at the hospital so you can get something for the shock.”
I hate hospitals, but knowing I can’t do this on my own, I nod.
“Come, baby.”
Since Papa was assassinated earlier today, Max’s tone has been gentle, and it keeps making me cry.
“Don’t talk to me like that,” I say. “Your tone is always commanding. The gentleness is making it worse for me.” I lift my eyes to his. “I have no strength, Max. I need you.”
A domineering expression takes hold of his features, then he says, “Take all the strength you need from me.”
His hand grips mine like a vice as we step off the plane. A blacked-out SUV waits for us, and there’s a motorcade with a group of guards.
“They’re from St. Monarch’s,” Max informs me.
We approach a man who looks like he’s in charge of the motorcade. He nods at me, then says, “I’m sorry for your loss, Miss DuBois.” His eyes flick to Max. “My name is Danil. What are our orders, Mr. Levin?”
He’s Russian.
“We’re heading to the hospital before going to Mr. Dubois' house.”
There’s so much I have to do. Funeral arrangements. My father’s last will.
Philippe! Does our chef even know my father’s been killed?
I’m sure he does.
Max opens the backdoor and nudges me forward. When I climb inside, he takes the seat next to me while Danil slides in behind the steering wheel.
As we’re driven to the hospital, I lean against Max. I try to focus on the comfort I find from having him with me rather than the devastating loss I suffered today.