Hunter would. I know that. Hunter would give up Sterling Ranch for me. And I can't let him.
"If we can't agree terms, we kill you and deliver you back to Sterling Ranch in five pieces."
"Five. Very adventurous," I say, deadpan.
The guy laughs and crouches to my eye level. Close enough that I can smell his cologne over the damp and the blood.
"My sister thinks she has control of this family. That she can control our father. She is wrong. A woman can't run this kind of organization. It's unnatural." His lip curls. "You think she could take down the Greeks? When she couldn't even get Hunter to work with her? Useless bitch."
From what I've seen, Gianna Milano is the opposite of useless. And this idiot just told me everything I need to know. This isn't a Milano operation. This is a coup. The little brother making his move while his sister holds the throne.
But none of this fucking matters if Harper didn’t make it.
"I can't wait to see what she does to you when she finds out," I say.
He shrugs, that crazed look returning to his eyes.
"The Milano family is mine. Our father will soon see that. I was the one who took the initiative. I sided with those Greek bastards so I could take them down. I did that. Not precious Gianna."
His eye twitches, and I tilt my head, assessing him. Something has him rattled; it’s making him anxious. My guess is that Gianna is already onto him.
This family is fucking delusional. And that's exactly why it'll crumble. Families don't turn on each other like this. I'd die for my brothers. My brothers would burn the world for me.
That's the difference. That's always been the difference. And it's why the Sterlings will still be standing when the Milanos are a name on a gravestone.
He pulls out his phone and holds it up.
"Smile for the camera, pretty boy. This might be a good post for your socials, too."
I don't.
All I can picture is the flames on the car. Harper's body hanging. Our baby.
I need to get the fuck out of here.
CHAPTER EIGHTY
Harper
My nose is being attacked by the waft of chemical lemons. When I open my eyes, I'm lying in a comfortable bed in a navy bedroom. A machine beeps beside me. Tubes run out of my arms.
And then I see her. To my right, sitting beside me. Her eyes are red. Has she been crying?
But I don't believe Gianna Milano cries.
"Harper," she whispers.
I ignore her and look away, closing my eyes.
"My baby," I say quietly.
She holds my hand, and I brace for the worst.
"The doctor did an ultrasound while you were out. Your baby is fine. They're doing bloodwork, going to check again. But your baby is okay. You are okay. You just need to rest. They've cleaned all your cuts. You'll be sore."
I let out a breath, and the tears come after. I snatch my hand from hers and hold my stomach.
Our baby is okay.
