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Torian
Her apology makes me stiffen. The wish for good luck just pisses me off.
“Get in the panic room.” I stalk for the hall, not looking back. Those pleading eyes and pained voice are putting me off my game.
I yank the bedroom door shut behind me and stand there, my hand clutching the handle as I rest my head against the thick wood.
Where the fuck is the co
Or was it tact instead of luck?
“You ready?” Luca’s voice carries to me from the opening to the living room.
“Yeah.” I stalk toward him. “I just need my gun.”
He holds out the weapon as I approach, his face stark. I’m well aware he’s on edge. He doesn’t think I’m capable of killing my own father, and that’s okay. He can doubt me all he fucking likes. As long as he’s got my back.
I grasp the gun, check the clip, and shove it down the back of my waistband, covering it with my jacket while I continue into the bright light of the open living area.
“It sounds like they’re almost here.” He follows at my side, staying close.
“Go greet him and make sure everyone else remains on the boat.” I keep my tone level, well aware I’ve got eyes and ears on me now. My audience screams loud through the silence, Anissa’s scrutiny shadowing me through the pinhole camera on the far wall.
“I’ll have outside under control.” He starts for the glass doors. “I’ve got everything I need. I’ll just wait for your signal.”
“Good.”
He leaves me alone, giving me the necessary space to regroup, yet all I think about is her. I’m caught trying to determine if her actions in my bedroom were a charade or if I’ve messed with her head enough to make her soft.
I approach the sofa, gliding my hands over the cushioned headrest as I stare at the tiny black dot of a camera disguised in the frame of a local artist’s painting.
That woman isn’t soft. But she’s fucking smart. Brilliant.
I made the mistake of telling her I needed her antagonism—that fucking high horse—to get through this, so she gave me vulnerability and concern instead.
A grin pulls at my lips. The co
I focus on the camouflaged dot, sending a silent message to my adversary.
You’re not in my head, little fox.
I’m focused.
Locked fucking tight.
This isn’t my first rodeo. Switching off emotion comes easily. Why wouldn’t it, when I spent my entire childhood being punished whenever my poker face failed?
The labored beat in my chest is adrenaline-based. There’s no guilt or time to second guess. I’m done with that.
After tonight, my sisters can gain closure. My family will be safe. The tarnish of someone else’s sins won’t mark my name. Everything will ease.
Only the nightmares will linger.
I shove from the sofa and walk into the kitchen, turning on the coffee machine. I strengthen my conviction while I wait for the java to pour.
I recall the photos I’d been given by a private investigator. The haunted eyes of women used as objects by men without souls. I’ve seen one of those haunted faces up close. I’ve witnessed the sterility staring back at me from someone I love.
That’s why my father’s actions sicken me to my core.
This is personal. Not business.
This depravity goes against everything he taught me—strength can never be derived from the weak. You only gain power from destroying the strong.
My father should loathe his own actions. Instead, I’m led to believe he thrives on them.
It’s a disease. One without a cure.
Death is the only option.
The coffee machine kicks in, the gentle gurgle filling the room as the glass door slides open behind me.
I concentrate on my breathing. My expression. My posture. Luther will scrutinize all of the above. I make sure my mask is perfectly in place, then I turn and hide my surprise at seeing Luca walk inside.
He’s not meant to return. His place is on the pier. With my father’s guards.
He had one job, and he’s already fucked up.
I lock down my a
His tight expression says it all.
There’s been a change in plan. Something has happened.
I don’t react. Don’t falter.
I remain coiled. Prepared.
He moves to the side of the doorway, holding back the curtain, and from the darkness my father steps inside, the strong, sure stride of my family’s patriarch heading toward me, his smile holding an air of superiority.
There’s no fear in his features. Not a hint of concern to explain Luca’s presence. Only the thi
“It’s good to see you, son.”
I return his smile and walk toward him. “You, too.”
“Although, it would’ve been better if you didn’t look so weary. I gather I caused you a few headaches while I was in the States.”
“Nothing I couldn’t handle.” I hide a frantic search for answers under a calm facade. I scrutinize him head to toe. I analyze his tone. His gait.
But it becomes clear he’s not the cause of Luca’s unease.
It’s not Luther at all.
The gentle pad of feet in his wake are the issue.
The tiny, barely heard steps are torture to my ears.
I quieten my speculation. I refuse to react.
Then a small boy inches out from Luther’s shadow and wide eyes blink up at me. The face of i
“I smell coffee.” My father stops before me and thrusts out a hand to shake.
It takes all my effort to drag my attention from the child and clasp the offering.
“I’ll make you a mug.” Luca walks around us, his narrowed gaze pi
My game face must be slipping.
“Yes. Coffee.” I incline my head and release my father’s hand.
Now, more than ever, I need to focus, but the child reclaims my attention, his tiny arms wrapping around Luther’s thigh for protection. Those eyes. That bone structure. The dark hair.
It’s like looking into a mirror from my past. My own reflection stares back at me.
“What have I told you about meeting people?” my father warns.
The boy hangs his head, wisps of mussed hair shrouding the purity of his face. “Never show fear.”
Bile churns in my gut, growing toxic.
The gentle i
The boy isn’t an infant. He has to be older than five.
Fucking five.
Five years of lies. I
“It looks like somebody has some explaining to do.” I meet my father’s gaze. “Care to tell me why you brought a kid out here in the middle of the night?”
He winces.
I know what comes next. I’ve wondered if this day would ever come. My father has been escaping to Greece for years. He’s been living another life overseas. Evidently, with another family.