Total pages in book: 192
Estimated words: 182641 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 913(@200wpm)___ 731(@250wpm)___ 609(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 182641 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 913(@200wpm)___ 731(@250wpm)___ 609(@300wpm)
“No,” I cut Dom off, moving toward my wing without a single look back.
I’m fuming, on the verge of shaking or screaming or throwing myself down the fucking stairs, but I make it no more than five steps up when the front door bursts open and my dad flies in.
“What did I say?!” he booms.
But I’m not given a chance to answer, as no less than two dozen men file in behind him, half head toward me, the other half breaking toward the right.
“What the f—” My arms are gripped on both sides, and I yank away, but then each limb is in someone’s grasp and I’m carried out the door. “Dad, what the hell! What is going on?”
I’m literally tossed into the car. The door slammed in my face.
Growling, I dart forward, reaching for the handle, but then it’s thrown open and my sister is tossed in, dressed in nothing but a long shirt that is definitely not hers.
She looks from me to the men surrounding the cars and back. “He’s here, isn’t he? Enzo? This is it? The trade?”
“Trade? What trade?”
“The clause in my contract.”
“What clause?”
She hiccups, and my eyes narrow.
“Are you drunk?”
“If only.” Her smile is sloppy and sad.
I shake my head, focusing once more. “Boston, what clause?”
“The one about me being a failure.”
My heart pounds in my chest and she opens her mouth to say more, but movement out the window catches my eye, so I slap my hand over it in perfect time for our father to slip into the vehicle.
He’s shaking, absolutely livid, as he glares from me to my hand over my sister’s mouth, but he doesn’t say a word.
He sits back and glares some more.
“Dad—”
“Don’t. I told you to stay put. You’re being followed. Everywhere you go. Everything you do. You are being followed. I have no idea by who, but they want me to know for a reason.” His frown deepens, and he clenches his jaw.
My brows snap together. “How do you know?”
“They’ve been sending me shots of you, both of you. Images and videos. It’s been going on for a while now. I don’t think they can tell you two apart, and that’s the only reason no move has been made.”
“What?!” I snap, glancing at Boston when she jerks, well on her way to passing out again. “How could you not tell me?!”
“I am telling you now.” He scowls. “I had added security in place all this time, and I’ve told you to behave. You were aware of the risks we were taking here, so I don’t know why you’re surprised.”
“Are you joking?!” My eyes snap toward the driver when he rolls up the privacy window. “You’re telling me someone has been watching me. That’s pretty fucking surprising!”
His eyes narrow at my tone, but he doesn’t comment on it.
“Does Damiano know?”
“He’s being debriefed now.”
“This is messed up.” I shake my head. “You should have warned me.”
“And you would have what … listened?”
I press my lips together, and he lifts a knowing brow.
Huffing, I focus on what’s important. “What do we know and don’t tell me nothing.”
He tips his head slightly, an irritated sigh leaving him. “That’s the problem and exactly what we have. Nothing.” His eyes meet mine. “I can find nothing. I can trace these back to no one.” A fierce form of rage flashes in his gaze. “It’s your mother’s case all over again.”
My inhale is sharp, his words catching me off guard. My mother’s case.
He has never spoken to me about her case before … or lack thereof, really.
We stare at each other for a long moment, his gaze constantly shifting as his mind runs a mile a minute. When I don’t break under his watchful eye, he sits back, and the anger slowly fades into a curious sort of pride.
He pulls his phone from his suit jacket, looking at the screen. “There are things we must discuss. We will speak on it soon,” he dismisses me.
As the silence stretches, it doesn’t take long for me to fall back into my endless thoughts. Bastian won’t speak to me, won’t return my calls, and tonight, I went into his world as he came into mine, desperate for a conversation, at the very least. The man gave me nothing, pretended I was just some girl with eyes for the bad boy, while he gave all his words to someone else.
A girl who fit beside him in ways I never will. He sat there enjoying his night, all carefree and grinning at a girl I had vivid images of stabbing when she smiled back at him.
My ribs constrict and I breathe through the tension.
Fuck him.
He’s clearly not interested in what I have to say, doing just fine and not sitting around wondering what I’ve been up to or who has been in my bed when he was so quick to demand no one be. So, yeah. Fuck him.