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“I won’t say a word to your brother, but you will keep me informed. I have to know you’re safe. And that is not up for discussion. I don’t give a damn that you’re twenty-nine. You’ll always be my baby.” He pauses, letting it all sink in. “Got it?”
“Yeah, I got it,” I agree because I know how I feel about Gabriel when he’s not even mine.
For once, I think I might understand where my dad is coming from.
He leans forward, kissing the top of my head.
“I love you, Dad,” I tell him just as he releases me to leave.
* * *
After my dadleft this morning, Drago and I stayed in a locked stare, standing out on his covered patio, not speaking a single word. He finally stalked off, presumably to his office. But in the few minutes our eyes were locked, so much passed through us.
Heat, want, disdain, anger, sorrow, and something else, something stronger, I think, but I honestly can’t be sure if he hates me right now or if he just feels guilty for Diaz trying to end my life... or if he’s trying to lock down feelings he doesn’t want me to see.
I’ve been wracking my brain all day on what I need to do; where I should even start.
I tried calling Ms. Lincoln, but her son answered her phone, politely asking me not to call his mother ever again. I really can’t blame him. She wasn’t injured, thank God. But she was scared for her life while Sebastian had her tied up to one of her dining room chairs with a handkerchief around her mouth to muffle her screams for help.
I feel terrible that happened because of me. All because I enlisted her help caring for Gabriel. It should have never happened. She should never have been involved—which is another reason I don’t want the rest of my family knowing anything about what’s happened.
My dad thinks there’s a chance of me going into a deep depression over the loss of my baby. But if something were to ever happen to Jackson or Alana or one of the kids because of me, that’s when he would have cause for worry.
I’ll eventually deal with the things I’ve shut off, and I’ll be fine.
At least I hope I will.
I pick up my smartphone, turning it so that the screen lights up, showing no new notifications or any missed calls or text messages.
Every time I look at the screen, my heart dies a little more inside because the hope of Gabe being okay dwindles.
“Will you please stop checking your phone while we’re eating?” Drago asks in a not-so-polite kind of way.
It was more of an order than not, and it successfully pisses me off. He knows what I’m doing. He knows why I’m doing it. So why is he making a big deal of it?
“No,” I say in a strained voice, holding back an outburst that would be rude to display in front of his family. And with Luca’s daughter at the table, I won’t, no matter how much Drago deserves streams of profanity thrown at him. He’s being unreasonable.
“A word,” he bites out as he stands, his chair sliding across the floor, echoing his displeased expression.
Like I give a damn in this moment.
He knows I have one thing on my mind and one thing only, yet he insisted I join them all for dinner. Mona cooked a wonderful meal that smells divine, but my appetite is nonexistent. If I force it, it would only mean I’ll end up in the bathroom puking it all up later.
Following him out of the formal dining room, and then through the living room, he bypasses the stairwell, turning and heading down the hall to his office if I’d have to guess.
I’m right. He turns the knob on the closed door, opens it, and disappears inside as I’m still trailing, slowing my pace the closer I get. Dread develops in the pit of my stomach. Whatever this is, it isn’t going to end well for either of us.
That much I know.
When I walk in, I close the door, leaning against it and staying as far away from him as possible. He’s standing in front of his desk, his ass propped against the edge, looking at me with his arms crossed over his broad chest.
I want nothing more than to go to him, climb up his body and lose myself in his touch. He has the ability to make me forget as well as he can make me remember things. Turning everything off, forgetting everything that’s happened—even for a little while—would be welcoming. And he’s right there.
The problem is, I can’t allow that. Every minute, every second I spend not focused on Gabriel is every second I lose what little hope I have left.
“Say whatever it is you have to say and get it over with.” There’s no reason to beat around the bush.
“Goddammit, Brianna.”
