“That doesn’t mean we’ll stop trying,” Dio sighed.
“Tell me about Dante,” I said, changing the subject to what mattered. Arguing with them was like relentlessly banging my head against a brick wall. “How do you know Adamian took him?”
“The bastard rang me,” Rafe said, and when I turned, he was leaning heavily in the doorway of the office. He was dressed in only a pair of sweats, his still-bandaged torso bare. He was covered with a sheen of sweat, his eyes heavy, and his skin too pale. I was pretty sure if he moved from where he leant, he would collapse.
I looked to Dio with question, worried for my brother. He hadn’t looked that bad earlier.
“He’s been drinking, a lot,” Dio told me quietly. “He needs to go to bed.”
“Adamian rang you? I thought he was at death’s door?” Cal asked.
“He’s desperate,” Dio replied. “He was well enough to offer a proposition. He wants Cara for forty-eight hours. Says he’ll let her go once they’re married.”
“Me and this ‘Daniel’ guy, right?” I clarified.
“Marriage. Certificates signed and legalised. Consummation witnessed and irrefutable, then you and Dante walk,” Rafe slurred with a bitter scoff. “I told him where he can stick his pr-proposition!”
“I can do that,” I agreed instantly. “If it will save Dante, I’ll do it.”
“You will not!”
“No way!”
“No’ a chance in hell!”
My guys objections came loud and fast, all talking over each other as they all sent me their own version of withering looks.
“Wewill save Dante! You’re going nowhere near this!” Rafe snapped.
“Yeah. You look like you’re really up to leading that rescue right now!” I threw back sarcastically.
“I’m handling things,Piccola. Go back to bed, okay? I’ll fix this,” Dio told me.
“Yeah, okay,” I nodded, but the nod, and my tone were laced with bitterness. “I’ll go to bed like the broken little princess I am.”
I started to storm back up the stairs, not even able to look at any of them. I got that they thought they were keeping me safe, but they couldn’t! And maybe if they stopped trying and focused on what the hell was going on, we’d all avert some of the disasters we continued walking right into.
“No one follow me!” I shouted when I heard footsteps start up the stairs behind me. Luckily for whoever it was, they stopped where they stood and didn’t follow any more.
By the time I got to my room, I already knew what I was going to do. I was done being protected. I didn’t need it. I needed this whole mess to be finished with, and doing what Adamian wanted would end it, as well as getting Dante back.
Forty-eight hours, a sham marriage, enduring one more violation of my body, and it would be done. Adamian would get what he wanted before he died, and surely me being technically married to this Daniel would save us from him coming after myfamily anymore? I could do it. My brother and the men I loved underestimated me, but I knew I could do it and come out barely any more broken than I already was. I could live with that. If it saved Dante, I could live with it.
Rafe would be furious. Cal, Arran, and Dario may never forgive me. Dante would be apoplectic with rage, but as long as he was alive, that was all I cared about. As long as those men who would be angry with me, were all safe from more threats, it would be worth it.
***
I started by calling the number Hilt had called me on before, but it didn’t connect. I stupidly tried googling ‘Grigor Adamian’ but all that brought up was newspaper articles about crimes he’d been tied to, and a court case that had almost tied him to a murder four years ago. No contact numbers. Obviously.
Then I remembered the research Cal had been doing the other day, into all of Adamian’s property holdings, so I snuck across the hall to steal his laptop. From there it wasn’t hard to get the phone numbers for several of his legitimate clubs and a restaurant he owned. I called and left messages at every one, with my name, number, and telling them Adamian wanted to speak to me urgently.
I was almost dressed in the black jeans and black henley I had chosen in that desperate attempt, once again, to feel like the old, much braver version of me that I used to be, when my phone started buzzing from the dresser. I ran to it, snatching it up, my heart thudding too hard and fast when I saw ‘no caller ID’ on the screen.
“Yeah?” I answered shakily. I had wanted it to sound stronger, but I had panicked. ‘Hello’ sounded too friendly, didn’t it?
“You’ve greatly surprised me, daughter,” an aged, but still commanding voice spoke.
“Don’t call me that. I’m not your daughter!” I balked.
