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“Dinner is ready, sir.”
I walked straight past my butler like he wasn’t there.
“Would you like to take it in the dining room—”
A large vase was on one of the entryway tables, decorative crap that the designer had picked out when I bought the place. I grabbed the table and pushed it over, sending everything to the floor, where it crashed into a million pieces.
Then I kept going.
He didn’t ask me about dinner again.
I made my way upstairs to my bedroom, stripped off my jacket and tossed it on the floor, and then headed straight to my private bar. I finished my drink before I threw the glass against the wall.
It shattered like the vase.
My phone vibrated with a call from Bleu.
I ignored it.
I took a shower, skipped the shave, and then stepped into the bedroom with just a towel around my waist.
My phone lit up, and I had four missed calls from Bleu.
Must be important. Silas probably rallied the guys together to chop off my head or run me out of Paris.
I finally answered. “What is it, Bleu?”
“I just got a report from the guys in Florence. Thought you’d want to know.”
I couldn’t believe I still worried for her—after she fucked me over like this. “Is she okay?” I hated asking the question. I hated caring.
“She’s fine. Visited the family estate.”
“Is she staying?”
“She rented an apartment, so I’d say yes.”
So, she was going through with her idiotic plan.
“But there’s something else.”
“Yes?”
“She’s spending extensive time with Victor.”
I stilled when I heard that fucker’s name.
“They’ve had dinner together a couple times.”
My jaw was clenched so tightly I was about to grind my teeth into dust.
“Do you have any orders?”
Shoot him in the back of the head—and make her watch.“No.”
“How did it go with Silas?”
“He threatened to stuff me in an oil drum.”
