Page 58 of Captivated

Jealousy surged through Joe.

Hot.

Heavy.

Dangerous.

He swallowed the bitter taste it left behind, and tried to keep it from showing in his tone when he said, “That’s fair to say, sure.”

“How about I look there, then,” Cory suggested.

“What—at Liliana and Rich? She’s not seeing him.”

“But she might have been.”

Fuck.

True.

And that might give Joe some of his answers, too.

“I know some people,” Cory added under his breath. “I could have the info to you relatively soon.”

“How soon?”

“Depends on how much digging I have to do. I mean, if it were easy to find, you would know already. There would have been news about the Marcellos and these high-profile men they want you to hit, but you said there’s no direct connection that you’ve found. None that are obvious between the marks of yours, and the main men of the Marcello organization, anyway. That means, it has to be something deeper in their family. Something—or someone—behind these men that they’re protecting.”

Someone like Liliana.

Joe swallowed hard, not liking how this was starting to look. “All right, then. Don’t tell Dad you’re looking into shit. He’s already being a prick about this when I try to ask.”

Cory nodded. “You got it.”

EIGHT

“RETIRÉ DEVANT! I said retiré devant, Anabel. Jesus Christ.”

“I did.”

“Then why was your leg still on the floor, girl?”

The argument continued on between the director and a dancer, but as long as it wasn’t her who was fighting with him, she found it easy to tune the man out.

Liliana fell from her position, thankful that at the moment, Gordo’s anger wasn’t on her. She felt bad for Anabel, though, because the girl had been in the correct move, and position. It didn’t matter—they were working on seven hours, and at the six-hour mark was about the time when Gordo’s patience ran thin when it came to training and rehearsals.

He couldn’t possibly have his eyes on twenty dancers at once, but he certainly thought he could. And thus, when his frustration or irritation with anything spilled over, he liked to take it out on the dancers.

Regardless if this was just another one of Gordo’s outbursts, or if the girl was actually missing her moves, Liliana was grateful for the break. It allowed her the chance to catch her breath, grab the towel hanging over the barre along the wall of mirrors, and wipe her face, neck, and shoulders down.

She was taking in her tired reflection when a familiar man stepped into the entrance of the studio. Her father was formidable on his good days—tall, dark, and brooding. Her mother liked to say Lucian could silence someone with nothing more than a glance in their direction, and a smart person could guess his mood just based on how dark the hazel of his eyes were on any given day.

Liliana knew it was all true.

She also knew that he was her dad. Lucian never scared her, and he certainly didn’t intimidate her, either. How could he when he was the same man who used to sing her a special bedtime song he made up just for her, or all the tea parties he joined in on when she was a little girl?

He was her dad.

That’s all she saw.