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“That’s because I have it. Mr. Jameson had a last-minute adjustment made to it.”
“You’re serious?”
“As a heart attack.”
“That would be amazing. I didn’t think I’d enjoy it as much, but once I broke through the mental fog, it all clicked.” Unwrapping my sandwich, I grabbed the homemade chili pepper sauce and put on more than I should. And while I didn’t usually eat super spicy, this one was like crack for me. “That, and I like knowing I can protect myself. Precautions never hurt.”
“Agreed.” Lindsey wiggled her fingers and I handed over the bottle, smirking when she poured more than me. “What about today after work? I know a place that’s open late.”
“Sounds good.”
“Good. Then let’s go.”
I arched a brow. “Go where?”
“To the Conte House, silly. I’m the new self-defense class instructor.” At my perplexed look, she shrugged. “The old instructor was paid handsomely to take a sabbatical so I could step in. I ‘work’ for the same company.”
“Well, shit.”
“Exactly. So let’s go.” Packing her items back inside a brown bag, she nodded at my sandwich. “Can’t be late on my first day.”
“How have you been, daughter? Had a good vacation?” Dad’s voice snaps me back from the memory, and it’s hard, but I hold in my glare, focusing just past his head so he doesn’t see the hatred that brews within me. Because I do; I hate him. “Did you take any pictures? The place I booked was…”
My attention isn’t on his words. Instead, I take in the dark room with the moon glinting through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The sole source of light is coming from a desk lamp near a turned-off computer and his cigar.
There’s a small sitting area behind me and to the left, while the wall right across has built-in shelves filled to the brim with books he’s never probably heard of. A bar with the kind of alcohol he drinks is there, too, the glasses cleaned three times a day by his personal assistant.
“…are you listening to me?” His terse tone pulls my attention to him, and I meet his eyes for the first time since stepping inside the room. He looks tired and stressed, hair mussed, and tie undone while sweat dots his forehead. “I asked you a question.”
“Repeat, please.”
“I said, did you run into any problems?” Exasperated, he levels me with a glare. “Giannis wasn’t very forthcoming on your time in Brazil.”
“Does it matter?”
At my counter, my father slams a hand atop his desk. “Cut the fucking attitude, kid. When I ask a question, I expect an answer. Keep testing me. You know the consequences better than anyone.”
“That’s not necessary.” Another voice, male, fills the room, and my head snaps to the dark corner of the sitting area. With little to no lighting, it’s hard to make out the tall form sitting there, but the light at the end of a cigar is bright red. “She’s done her part. Surpassed my expectations, to be honest.”
Uneasiness settles over me. My stomach drops, and I can’t stop the shaking of my hands.
“Mr. Gaspar, with all due respect, how I discipline—”
“She’s not yours anymore.” His words are spoken low, with ease, but the heavy implications fill me with dread and all I want to do is run out. Kray is in the building along with Lindsey, waiting for me in the main lobby, with the excuse that we’re heading to dinner right after. At once, I put my hand inside my pants pocket, and find the number 3 on the old prepaid phone Lindsey insists I carry with me now. “Isn’t she?”
Because it’s easier to find a number in button form than on a screen from inside a purse or pocket. And now, I see how right she is. I press and after fifteen seconds, hang up, and then again, following the same pattern.
“No. I guess not, my apologies.” Dad’s expression is cold, unaffected. He’s speaking about me as if I were an item and not his child. “But for today, I need her cooperation in the exchange. That statue has a buyer, and we made an agreement to split the profit to appease Rigo’s debt.”
“I don’t care about the profit and consider the debt canceled. She’s already proved her worth.” The man moves in his seat and a second later, another lamp is turned on. It illuminates him, bathing him in a soft yellow glow, which presents just enough of his profile for me to make out his features. He seems very familiar to me. Where have I seen him? “My plans are larger than the bullshit statue she’s been carrying around for you. This was just a preview of what she’s capable of, and my wife did more than satisfy my curiosity.”
“Wife?” I ask, swallowing back the bile rising. This—he can’t be serious.
No. No. No. No!
“Yes, princess. We’re betrothed.”
My reaction to that is instantaneous; I take the artifact out of my bag and slam it atop my father’s desk, glaring at him. If the damned thing cracked, I have no clue nor do I care, but my ire is mounting and for the first time, I understand how Callum can kill without remorse.
