My hands are shaking so badly I can barely hold the phone.
Adrian knows. He's always known. I told him years ago, back when I thought we had trust, when I thought he was someone I could be honest with.
And now he's going to use it against me.
Against Dante.
Against everything.
I sink into my desk chair, press my palms against my eyes.
What I did—what I had to do to survive, to keep Mom alive—it haunts me every single day. I thought I'd left that life behind. Buried it so deep no one would ever find it.
I thought I was safe.
But the past doesn't stay buried. It never does.
And now Dante—who bought me because Adrian offered me, who controls where I sleep and what I wear and every second of my day—is going to find out that the woman he's using to avoid scandal has a history that could create the exact scandal he's trying to avoid.
He'll get rid of me. He'll have to.
And Mom will lose her treatment.
I pull out my phone with shaking hands, pull up Tony's number.
I'm coming in a minute.
The response comes immediately:Parked out front.
I gather my things mechanically, turn off the lights, lock the door and try to figure out how I'm going to survive what's coming.
Because Adrian just armed a bomb.
And when it goes off, it's going to destroy everything.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Dante
Congressman Mike Patterson is an idiot.
I spend three hours in his office—mahogany desk, American flag in the corner, photos of him shaking hands with people more important than he'll ever be—listening to him posture about "constituents" and "ethical concerns" while what he really means is "I want more money."
Everyone has a price. Patterson's just happens to be higher than I initially calculated.
By the time I leave with his reluctant agreement to support our construction bid, I'm exhausted and irritated. And now I have to attend dinner at his house next week, make small talk with his vapid wife, and pretend I give a damn about his political aspirations.
The drive back to Alpine does nothing to improve my mood.
Marco pulls through the gates at seven-thirty. The house is lit up, warm light spilling from the windows, but it still feels cold. Lifeless. A museum, like Bianca called it. One I happen to sleep in.
I head straight for my office, loosening my tie as I go. I have emails to answer, calls to return, a report from Rafe about the Bronx territory that needs my attention.
But I pause in the hallway.
Bianca's door is closed. Light shows underneath.
I should leave her alone. Let her settle in. We still have days before the party, and I need her cooperative, not hostile.
