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I stared into my glass, watching the amber color swish around the translucent ice cubes.
“You shouldn’t gamble if you can’t afford to lose.”
“Is this your way of trying to make me feel better?” I asked coldly. “Putting all the blame on me?”
“I’m giving it to you straight, Bartholomew. Like I always do.”
I rested the glass against my temple, to cool the headache as well as the rage. “I’m so fucked, man.”
“You need to kill Silas.”
“If I do that, they’ll all turn on me.”
“Then you need to find a resolution.”
“I’m pretty sure Silas doesn’t want one. He’s moving his pieces across the board, and I’m struggling to protect my queen.”
“Then surround yourself with the ones you can trust.”
I kept the glass there. “You know what’s sad? I’m not sure who that is anymore.” I stared at my hollow expression in the mirror on the wall, seeing the way my eyes were sunken, the way I’d aged a decade in just a month.
“You gave up everything for her—and you can’t take her back?”
I set the glass down.
“Walk away from the Chasseurs. Get your woman. Be happy.”
“There’s no running from this. They’ll hunt me down—and Laura is the last person I want with me when that happens.” I tilted my head back and drank the rest in a single go. Scotch was a better painkiller than any kind of pill. “And I don’t trust her.”
“You gave her an impossible choice—”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“If it doesn’t matter, why are you upset about her sleeping with someone else?” Benton asked. “You’re sitting here drinking yourself to death over a woman.”
I gently rotated the glass, making wet circles on the counter. “Because it was real…every moment…every night…all of it.”
14
LAURA
My father had made a generous donation to the biggest Catholic church in Florence, and that somehow translated into an extravagant and unnecessary party. I rarely interacted with my father. It was always indirect, maybe a simple acknowledgment across the room, maybe a hand on the shoulder—but that was it.
I knew I needed to do more if I was going to execute this plan.
Victor returned to me, a glass of champagne in his hand.
Bartholomew wouldn’t be caught dead drinking that. The man only drank the hard stuff and water—occasionally wine.
His hand went to my waist. “We’ve never shared a kiss in public.”
I met his gaze, seeing the expectant look in his eyes. “I think sleeping over at my apartment is enough.”
He didn’t hide his disappointment. “I asked for your father’s blessing.”
My heart sank because this just became real. “What did he say?”
“He wouldn’t give it to me.”
