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“The D’Angelos and Sartoris aren’t just people you attack,” Dad grumbles. “It will cause a rift that Viktor’s worked so had to bridge over the years. They’ve only just yielded to the bratva.”
“I know,” I mutter. “Trust me, I fucking know.”
“Buy Abigail,” Mom mentions.
“She’s not cattle to be sold and purchased!” I take a deep breath to calm down, then whisper, “Sorry, Mom. I didn’t mean to raise my voice at you.”
She gets up and comes to rub my arm. “I know this is hard. We all want her back. If you charge the Sartori’s mansion and go in guns blazing, she could get killed. All hell will break out.”
She’s right. I can’t risk Abigail’s life, no matter how badly I want to kill her father. Never mind the strain it would put on my relationship with my cousin.
Fuck.
I have to buy Abigail.
God, I hope she’ll understand I’m doing it to save her.
“How do you want to handle this?” Dad asks.
I let out a heavy sigh. “We’ll go to the Sartoris’ mansion, and I’ll buy my woman from the bastard.”
I might not get to kill him today, but I sure as fuck will punch the ever-living shit out of him.
“Let’s get ready,” Mom says as she hurries to the door.
My eyes meet Dad’s, and I mutter, “At least, this way, our children will inherit the Sartori empire. I’m going to think of it as an investment.”
“Yes, bloodshed isn’t always the answer,” Dad agrees.
“You’ll need to keep me calm,” I warn him. “So I don’t kill the fucker in a fit of rage.”
Dad lets out a chuckle as he stands up. “Why did you have to inherit your mother’s temper?”
“I heard that!” Mom calls from somewhere in the house.
Abbie
The guests are starting to arrive, and I have to fake being happy while receiving their well-wishes.
This sucks.
I help myself to a glass of champagne and slowly sip on it. The last thing I want is to get drunk tonight.
Antonio is standing by my side, his hand resting on the small of my back. Again my skin crawls as if a million fire ants are going to town on my ass.
“You’re so lucky,” Mrs. D’Angelo says to me. “Antonio is a fine choice.”
I’m sure. They’re just too freaking happy to take the man’s money.
After all, what benefits my father, benefits Mr. D’Angelo.
“Where’s Aurora?” she asks, her eyes scanning over the guests for her daughter.
“I don’t know.” Come to think of it, I haven’t seen them since Misha pulled her aside. “I think she’s in the kitchen with Misha.”
Mrs. D’Angelo lets out a huff. “She better watch her weight, or she won’t fit into the wedding dress.”
I almost roll my eyes but catch myself in time.
