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Chapter Nine – Giselle
A few days went by. Every night, I trained with Ezekiel—and by train, I really did mean train. We didn’t, uh, let ourselves get too caught up in each other’s bodies. Not then. Not when I felt like my life was spiraling out of control. There might be time for that later, if I managed to succeed and get some dirt on my father.
I had Zander listening to the bugs when he wasn’t with me. And when we were together, we left the house, found a spot in the city, and parked the car, listening together. Anytime my father was in the house doing business, we listened. It was when he left the house that we were clueless as to what he was doing… and I was beginning to suspect he was hiding something.
He had to be. He was leaving far too often now, and not giving me a word as to where he was going. He also never left guards with me, other than Zander. It was like my father had stopped giving a shit. Or, you know, stopped pretending to give a shit.
I had to hand it to Zander. He reacted much better than Luca had when I’d told him everything. It was hard to be around him and not think of what we did just before I’d confessed, like now that we’d taken that step with each other, it was all I could think about when he was within a four-foot distance from me.
His muscles. The way his mouth could make every nerve in my body go haywire. How his cock had felt nestled inside of me. The weirdness that might’ve encompassed our union was gone; I only wanted him more now.
I’d told him he couldn’t own me, and I’d meant it, but that didn’t stop me from feeling like I had a claim on him. Ironic, wasn’t it?
I divided my time with wearing the ring Luca had dropped off the other day, choosing to wear my gloves when I wasn’t wearing the damned ring. And when he’d swung by to give it to me? It was literally just that. He hadn’t said more than two words to me, and I was still ticked off at him and his response that I let it be. Maybe he was more like his father than I’d thought.
And that wasn’t a good thing.
Anyway, Zander and I didn’t hear anything on the bugs. Nothing we could use. All we heard was business about his actual above-the-board whiskey business, which obviously was a dead-end. I knew I had to have patience when it came to my father; he’d slip up eventually, and when that happened, I’d be there.
It was around lunchtime, and I sat in the backyard by myself, sipping on a glass of water. It was one of the few times Zander wasn’t with me, and my father was out of the house. He’d left two hours ago, and again, he’d told me he’d be back near dinner. It seemed to be a more and more common occurrence for him lately, and I couldn’t imagine why that would be.
What on earth would have his attention so badly to take him away from this house? Was it Black Hand business? I had no idea, but I kind of hoped it wasn’t. Them taking forever to officially name who was replacing the Lipman family was a blessing in disguise, as it gave me more time to take him down.
Because I would. Mark my words. I would take my father down, whether it was the last thing I did. If that asshole was the reason I was shot, I was going to return the favor. Never thought I’d commit some patricide, but then again, I never thought I’d do a lot of things, like let my father sell me out to a business partner when I was a mere fifteen years old.
Yeah, there was a lot I would change, if I could.
I sipped the glass, turning my head up to the sun. A clear, crisp blue sky, the temperature a balmy seventy degrees. With little to no wind today, it was nice. I sat on the back patio of the house, overlooking the gardens and pool that came with it—things which hadn’t been kept up with or used since we’d moved here.
I wore white pants with a light gray shirt. Slowly, I was taking my life back, and that included what I wore on a daily basis. I was so sick of the white. White, white, white, all the fucking time. You know how hard it was to keep white clothes clean? Fucking hard. Even when you did nothing all day, somehow you ended up with a few dirt smears here and there.
Eventually, I wanted to move to an all-black wardrobe. I’d much rather dress in black than white, anyway, and black fit the theme of Cypress a whole lot better than white did.
A faint sound in the distance brought me out of my mind, and I sat straight on the chair, listening for it to happen again. And it did. It almost sounded like someone was knocking on the front door of the house.
Was my father expecting someone? Hmm.
I got up, abandoning my glass of water as I did so. I went through the French doors, slipping into the house, making a beeline to the front door. I peered through the window beside it first, just to see who it was, and what would you know, I think this someone was here for me—though I had no idea why.
Opening the door, I gave the man an unimpressed look. “Damian. What do you want?”
The tattooed man gave me a lopsided smile. “I’m here to see you, baby girl.” He stepped right inside, as if I’d welcomed him in—which I definitely didn’t. But that was the thing about Damian: he walked like he owned whatever place he was in. His confidence definitely rode the line between annoyingly cocky and attractive.
It was only as he walked by me, into the house, that I saw he carried a small box. Less than a foot wide. It was tied with a simple black bow.
A present? What in the world…
I didn’t correct him, didn’t tell him to stop calling me baby girl; he never seemed to listen to me when I told him to stop, anyway, so it was only wasted breath. I shut the door behind him, picking up my pace to get in front of him. “I was sitting out in the back. Feel free to join me, unless you’re here to snoop on my father, in which case, go right ahead.”
“Tempting,” he said, “but like I said, I’m here for you.” He followed me through the house, out the back French doors. He took up a seat beside me, the box resting on his lap. He flashed me his white teeth. “I could use a drink.”
“Get one yourself,” I shot back, taking a sip of mine, crossing my ankles beneath the chair.
He laughed. “Feisty. Such a feisty one you are, Giselle. I have to admit, when I first saw you, I didn’t think much of you. I thought you were just another pretty face—especially in that white dress.”
I probably shouldn’t be comfortable being here alone with Damian, but I was. He had his chance to hurt me, to kill me, to leave me to die, and he didn’t. He’d called the ambulance, got me to the hospital, and even visited me there. Then there was that meeting in the church… and now he was here. A thought occurred to me.
“Are you stalking me, Damian?”
