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‘You try to leash me, I’ll fucking strangle you with it.’
Amara’s words of a fourteen-year-old boy came back to her.
“Tristan Caine,” she whispered, stumped all over again by the sheer brazenness of him.
Dante’s lips twisted. “Tristan Caine.”
Morana could hear the same awe she felt in Dante’s voice, the fact that a fourteen-year-old boy had told that boss of an entire mob that he wouldn’t yield…
“I’ve seen men, grown men, lick my father’s boot to remain in his favor, Morana. By the time I was eighteen, I thought there was not a single soul on this earth who could stand up to him. And then Tristan happened.”
His eyes closed as he inhaled deeply, evidently remembering. “That’s the reason I started sticking with him in the first place – he was fearless. He truly didn’t give a fuck at what my father did. In fact, the first common ground we both found was pissing the old man off.”
Morana slumped back in the chair, her chest filling with something.
“And your father keeps him on the compound because…?”
“Because though he would never admit it, my father fears Tristan,” Dante stated, a smidgen of respect in his voice.
Lorenzo Maroni. Feared. Tristan Caine?
What the what?
Her thoughts were evident on her face because Dante explained quietly.
“He fears Tristan because Tristan is a wild card. He does what he does, even living under the great Lorenzo Maroni’s eye. Every time Tristan disregards my father, it’s a very public slap on his face. And he fears what Tristan would do if he left his watch. He’s already an unknown. My father fears he’d become truly rogue if he left and take away what he prizes most.”
“His power,” Morana completed, pieces falling into place. “Wait, so he doesn’t want him to become the heir?”
“Fuck, no!” Dante responded vehemently. “That’s a rumor started by people on the outside who think Tristan lives on the inside because he’s being groomed to take over. My father entertained the rumor only to save his face. Because refuting it meant admitting to the truth, which would make him look weak.”
Oh boy.
She had to ask. “Why not just kill him, if he’s so much trouble?”
The thought left her bitter.
Dante shrugged. “Pride. Power. Who knows? Because Tristan is his most valuable asset? Because it would be admitting defeat if he couldn’t control him alive? I don’t know.”
God.
“Morana,” Dante paused for a beat. “For years my father has tried to break Tristan, to get even some semblance of control over him. Torture, blackmail, you name it, he’s done it. But it’s never worked. No matter what he subjected Tristan to, it always hit a wall.”
Her heart ached even as the rage filled her, against a man she’d not even met.
“My father,” Dante continued, “is going to hate you. And use you.”
Morana swallowed, a part of her afraid, another part daring the evil man to even try.
“I don’t have any control over him,” she reminded Dante, her fingers balling into fists.
Dante agreed. “You know that. Tristan knows that. But to anyone standing on the outside? You don’t have control, Morana. You have something better.”
“What?” Morana whispered.
“Influence,” Dante stated. “To anyone who’s looking at you two, it will be apparent you influence him. Which means it’s his choice. That, Morana, is going to make my father very, very upset. Because after everything he thinks he’s done, Tristan chose to let a girl influence him - that too the daughter of Vitalio. They have history.”
Uh oh.
