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“Dramatic.” He rolls his eyes.
“No, no. Are yousureyou’re a Giannotti?” I turn so I can reach to fix his collar. “You’re too pure. It’s what I’ve always loved about you, Andreas. You’re one of the good ones.”
“I’m not good.” His remark is bitter, and his eyes move away from mine. “You know that.”
“Stop that. Now is not the time.” I place my palms flat on his chest. “Or the place.”
“The deal,” he murmurs.
“That’s right… the deal.” A bemused smile tugs on my red-painted lips and I give him a wink. “I promise you, after this, our lives are changing.”
“Miss Abernathy,” a soft voice speaks. “I would advise against going in there.”
My cheek twitches as I struggle not to smirk. My stomach rolls with indignation as I’m handed a diversion I wasn’t expecting. To be honest, that was a faux pas on my part; I should have prepared for every single possible curveball. My complacency is one I’ll hate myself for later. Right now, I’ll roll with the punches. Patting Andreas’s collar, faking an attempt to fix it, I don’t dare turn yet. The tension building is so palpable I could cut it with a knife.
“And I always advised you to keep that bastard mouth quiet, but apparently, the years don’t change a person.”
Andreas bristles in front of me, his dark eyes glancing over my shoulder, and I see the reflection in the glint of them. Slowly, his eyes draw downwards, taking in the tiny smile that pulls on my lips, and he understands again he’s merely a pawn in a game much bigger than he and I.
“Please, Miss Abernathy.”
I roll my eyes and turn to face a ghost I never thought I’d see again. He’s turned into every bit of the man I imagined he would, and from the way he takes in the sight of me, I’ve turned into every expectation he had too.
“Jesus. It really is you.”
I was never a fan of shock and surprise—to feel it or deliver it. I like cool, calculated motions. Deliberately orchestrated moments that are intended to put the fear of Christ up anyone who falls prey.
Surprises cause more risks than rewards.
I fucking hate surprises.
“Who else were you expecting?”
His breath shudders, his chest shaking with the staccato intake as I smile sweetly from all of two feet away.
“Well?” I ask, a sense of boredom daggering my words.
“Talia.” He exhales heavily, taking a step forward to take my hand. “You need to leave.”
“Like hell I do.” I rip my hand free of his, my brow creasing into a deathly frown. “I have every right to be here right now.”
“I’m not saying you don’t, but I’m telling you, you do not want to go in there.”
“Why not?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest. “What’s the issue?”
“You won’t like what’s back there.”
Unable to hear any more bullshit, I push past him, advancing for the door, feeling him and Andreas hot on my heels, uttering my name in different octaves, unable to stop my growing fury.
I imagined this moment so differently. My father’s death igniting my resurrection was meant to be a real hailstorm of hellfire.
But not this.
Something is wrong. My churning gut almost confirms it before I even acknowledge the hypercell of energy in the main hall as I enter. Standing under the main archway, pillared by two muscular men here for different reasons, I see what I’m not meant to across the room.
My heart falters as I realise how generous time has been to him.
He’s greeting those around him, a warm smile with an ice-cold edge drawing people in, making them indebted to him with a mere shake of the hand. Subconsciously, I palm at my dress, hoping to get rid of a crease that doesn’t exist, and I hate myself for allowing him such an instant effect on me.
