Page 141 of Brutal Heir

I couldn’t breathe in the stifling confines of the hall.

I shrugged off Sebastian’s coat, but it didn’t help.

Turning, I pushed open the glass French doors and stepped into the interior courtyard.

The evening air carried the sharp tang of lemon balm mixed with the earthy scent of damp stone, the kind of smell that clung to your hair and lingered.

Water trickled from a series of fountains, the sound delicate yet insistent, breaking the silence. Tall, ancient trees with gnarled trunks stretched toward the glass ceiling, their dark leaves forming shifting patterns as the faint light played through them.

I fisted my hands into the heavy fabric of my skirts as I lifted them over my ankles and stepped deeper into the labyrinth of greenery, every rustle of a branch or crunch of a leaf beneath my heels making my pulse race faster.

“Sabrina.”

I hastened my steps.

Growing for generations, if not over a century, the interior courtyard was lush with tall trees. Gingerly stepping along the slick stone path, I pushed through the palm fronds and branches to hide within its foliage.

It didn’t work.

I broke through to the center clearing with him directly behind me.

For several moments, neither of us spoke.

With my arms folded around my middle, I stared at the open lion’s mouth as water poured out of it into a half-moon pool.

Murdered.

Not just murdered.

Murdered because of who her family was.

Because of me.

“Did you know?” I asked softly, my voice barely carrying over the gurgling of the fountain.

Sebastian’s shoe scraped against the stone as he shifted his weight. “Know what?”

I curled my hands into fists, and I whirled to face him. “No. We’re not doing that. Not tonight. No more games, Sebastian. Did you know?”

He yanked on his bow tie, the silk whispering against his shirt as he pulled it loose.

Shrugging out of his jacket with deliberate slowness, he let out a low sigh. “I’ve already told you. Running into your father while living in Rome was unavoidable.”

My arms hung rigidly at my sides as I began pacing, the sharp click of my heels on the stone breaking the quiet. “What did that woman mean about my family?”

His hands slipped into his pockets. “Did you never wonder where all your mother’s money came from?”

“She said it was an old trust set up by her grandfather,” I snapped, stopping mid-step to glare at him.

“And why she kept the name Badalamenti, despite supposedly fleeing from Italy?”

I ran my fingers through my hair, pacing faster now, my movements sharp and frantic.

Sebastian stepped into my path, his hands firm but surprisingly gentle as they closed around my shoulders. “Badalamenti is an old Italian name with links to the early Sicilian Cosa Nostra. The mafia.”

I froze, staring up at him as the words hit me. “This is insane. Are you saying my family is part of the mob?”

Mafia.