Page 133 of Ballrooms & Blackmail

His smile widens then he looks over at Sergio, his expression growing deadly serious. “Where’s Pascal?”

“We’re securing him now.”

I laugh, not giving a fuck that it hurts like hell.

The man I once considered a brother glares down at me, grits out, “What’s so funny, asshole?”

“It’s just that you’re still such a shit liar.”

The air goes taut.

“Do I need to remind you of the consequences of fucking with the family?” Sergio snaps.

“You can hurt me, can even kill me, but you’re not going to stop the dominos from falling, motherfucker.”

He rears back like he’s going to kick me again but my father places a hand on his shoulder and he freezes.

So do I.

Because my father crouches down and smiles that terrible smile at me.

“Oh, son, we’re not going to kill you.” A pat on my shoulder. “Well, not yet anyway.”

He drops a photo in front of me and rises.

For a second, I don’t look at it, can’t look at it.

Then it’s impossible to look away from the image.

It must have been captured by the penthouse’s security feed because it shows River standing in my kitchen.

Her hair is bundled messily on top of her head.

She’s wearing my shirt.

And there’s flour on her cheek.

Christ, this is from this morning.

She’d made these incredible pancakes, using that immersion blender to make them light and fluffy. I don’t even eat breakfast normally, but I ate those?—

And now they sit like concrete in my stomach.

“There he is,” Sergio drawls.

I try to keep my voice even…and fail miserably. “She has nothing to do with this.”

“Of course she does,” my father says and then sighs like I’ve disappointed him. “And really, you should know better by now.”

A lifetime ago, those words would have kept me on the ground, would have kept me weak and terrified.

Today, the monster inside me smiles.

Knows I’ve needed it for precisely this moment.

“You should’ve stayed dead,” I say quietly.

His smile falters.