“Have a little faith in me, love.”
“I’m going to ask you again. What do you think you’re doing?”
Her palm lands a gentle caress on my cheek.
“I love you, and I wanna build a life with you. Killing your father is not the way to do that. I’m giving us the only semblance of a clean slate I can think of. What you do with him is entirely up to you, but I’m not going to be here for that, because then the choice would be tied to my well-being. I want you to make your decision, knowing I’m safe either way, and it’s an outcome that isn’t shaped by your need to protect me.”
“You’re not going anywhere! I told you, I’m never letting go of you.” My grip on her arm tightens enough for her to know I mean what I say.
“You’re not letting go. You know where to find me. Remember?”
“L-l-lies.” A gravelly, barely audible voice chokes out, drawing everyone’s attention to the source.
“Hm, that worked faster than anticipated,” Summer notes, taking a step back, away from the table. I let her, recognizing the need to put some distance between her and Mason.
My father struggles to fill his lungs with air.
“F-fed—” Cough. “Lies.”
“I’m gonna leave you to it.” Summer tries to take another step back, but I stop her.
“If you think I’m letting you go out there alone—”
“Those men won’t perceive me as a threat until it’s too late. I can take them out without turning this into a shootout. If any of you follow me, that would no longer be the case.”
“But a shootout is so much fun.” Connor grins from across the table.
“Not when the people I love can get hurt.”
“Awww... see, Art? Principessa just said she loves me more than you.”
“Shut up, Connor!” multiple voices roar in unison.
Summer gets to the bag, and after briefly rummaging inside, she takes out a couple of thick rolled-up wads and stuffs them into her back pocket.
“M-Maeve!” Mason sputters, drawing back Summer’s attention.
Connor looks down at him, hand twitching, probably itching to put a bullet inside my father’s brain. He’s far from the only one plagued by such thoughts.
“What?” Summer saunters for the table. “You wanna threaten me or something? A tied dog barks. A dangerous one bites.”
A sardonic smile.
Still unable to move, barely able to speak, in a room full of people holding years upon years of hatred for him, and his lips still curve with dark amusement.
“Dante. Fed. You. Lies.”
Chapter 45
Atlas
“You don’t get to say my father’s name.” Summer strides to the edge of the table, her face burning with rage. “You have no right!”
“I—” Another cough. “Have... every right,” Mason says through bared teeth, and his blood-soaked fingers slowly curl into a fist. “219 days.” Lips turned up in disgust. “T-that’s how long... it took me... to find out that name.”
Where the hell is this going?
“You suck at math. We laid low for over ten months before... we were found.” I know Summer well enough to hear the crack in her voice she tries to hide.
