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I can’t hear what’s being said on the other side, but Father sighs.
“He’s here with me. He won’t make it to the rink. Not without a car.”
Not without a car?
“It’s not my business, but you shouldn’t be playing with what we deem valuable to us.”
Valuable to us? Who’s us?
“Teaching him a lesson?” He pauses to look my way and proceeds to roll his eyes. “There are better ways to throw this fucker in jail. For example, the contract that proves he’s arranged to marry a minor could easily get him arrested, but you love taking the more dangerous routes to prove a fucking point.”
What…?
My eyes are wide like saucers, but I can’t interrupt as Father sighs dramatically.
“Genetic, my ass,” he mutters. “He’s unaware of the changes, but if you want me to tell him now, I will,” he announces. “Stop wasting my time, and you best pray he gets there on time. I don’t want any part of dealing with Prescott’s wrath.”
Prescott’s wrath…
“Then you can figure out why he’s married to Iva and not me. You think I’m fucking psycho? See that unhinged fucker in action, and you’ll never go near anything he’s associated with, including his school.”
He mutters something in Russian I don’t grasp, but he’s staring at me once more.
“Let’s hope he gets to Eva on time, or else there won’t be a gala to attend,” Father affirms with that low stern voice of his. “Instead, we’ll be trying to survive an empire war.”
He hangs up without a goodbye and gets right to the point.
“You have forty minutes to get to that rink of yours at Leighton, or else Eva’s dead,” he declares. “And there’s no way of me protecting you from the feds, so I suggest you take this seriously and do what’s requested of you.”
“You’re fucking joking,” I huff and point at him. “You’re going to put me in jail, anyway! Suggesting I’m marrying a minor?!”
“Isn’t that what you’re doing behind my back?” he argues back. “That’s why I had Barbieri stomping into my office earlier today, calling off the apparent marriage contract you two settled upon because she found out you were set to marry Prescott’s youngest.”
“I’m not set to marry her,” I argue. “The Ruthless Kings are set to marry her in three years. All our names are on there.”
“Oh really?” Father sighs and picks up a thick file, only to throw it before him. Reaching further to grab the framed photo, as if it’s actually valuable to him, he puts it back in place and gestures to the file in a dark red folder. “Check yourself.”
I make haste to his desk, flipping the cover over and scanning the familiar contract with my eyes.
Only… it’s not the way I remember it back then.
Quickly, I scan through every page, seeing the absence of signatures.
The only signature that remains… is mine.
“You’re the only one on the contract, Domino.”
“That’s… impossible. There has to be some mistake! Someone forged this shit. Ares is on the contract I have at home. I know Zander would find a way to get his name off anything because of his fucked-up history, but I’m positive the copy at home has Ares’ signature.”
“Then you should go find that copy so we can prove this is forged, or else you’re a deer in headlights about to be hit with either criminal charges or will have no choice but to finish what you started.”
“I started?” I gasp at him. “YOU set up this shit.”
“I merely gave you the option to prolong your doom,” Father suggests. “Did you think you’d be off the hook for almost paralyzing Eva? This was the best way to give you a few years of leeway to build something for yourself. Look at the various heirs doing something with their lives, despite being destined to inherit their families’ empires. Do you see your fellow Ruthless Kings waiting to be fed their empire’s legacy?”
“Zander IS the ruler of the Benedict Empire out of obvious circumstances. As for Ares, he’s only guaranteed because his useless brother is more concerned about bodyguarding Eva like she’s some type of prize.”
“Well, when you think about it, she is,” he offers and shrugs. “You think in our world that anyone gives a shit if she ended up with you? She carries not one but two empires.”
