Page 120 of Bratva Menace

How fucking idiotic of me.

His eyes glazed over with hatred. “Well, you have. I will never forgive you for this, Lyla. Never.”

My heart fractured. “I’m sorry you feel that way.” I truly, truly was.

He shook his head. “Get out.”

“Lev—”

“I said, get the fuck out. I’m not staying here with you. I’ll get a hotel room, and figure it out on my own. I don’t need you.”

Yes, he did. So far, I’d done all the legwork. He’d done nothing but issue the orders. I didn’t say that, though. “It’s my car, Lev.”

“Well, it’s fucking mine now,” he growled.

I sighed. “You’re being immature.”

“Yeah. I’m taking a play from your book. Get out, Lyla.”

“You know what, fucking fine.” Maybe he needed a little bit of time to process what I’d said to him. Maybe the best thing I could do was leave, and try to talk to him when he’d had the opportunity to calm down.

I stepped out of the vehicle, holding the door open as I peeked back inside. “I’ll call you later.”

“Don’t fucking bother. Kane!”

His lapdog appeared beside me instantly. “Yes, sir?”

“Get in the car. We’re going to a hotel.”

“Right away, sir.”

“You’re being ridiculous, Lev,” I said as I backed away from the car.

He reached across the back seat and slammed the door shut. He wound the window down next, sticking his head out. “You’re being ridiculous!” he said pettily.

“No! You are!”

“You!”

“Call me when you grow up!”

“Call me when you stop being a little brat!”

Why I oughta⁠—

The vehicle sped off. Lev was still stuck out the window. He gave me the finger. I gave it back. The car disappeared around the corner.

“Fuck’s sake,” I blew out. Several pedestrians gave me odd looks as they walked down the footpath. “What?!” I snapped. “You never seen siblings fight before? Mind your own business.”

I pulled my phone out and called Cedric. The phone rang and rang before eventually going to voicemail. I tried again. Still nothing.

“Oh, come on,” I groaned to myself. “I don’t need this shit right now.” I had no idea why he wasn’t answering, but whatever the reason was, it had better be fucking good.

I quickly organized an Uber, and three hours and forty-seven minutes later, the car pulled up in front of my house. My real house.

“Jesus. That’s one hell of a reno job you got on your hands,” the Uber driver said, tearing my attention from my phone.

“Huh?” My face dropped at the sight before my eyes. “What the fuck?!” I jumped out of the car as the Uber driver yelled out, “Please leave five stars!”