And I don’t care who in this room decides to stand in my way.
Chapter Six-Cecilia
I don’t know what made me swing by The Den after spending the better part of the day shopping with my mother, my aunts, and my chaos-in-heels cousins. I think we cleaned out Saks and made some pretty impressive dents in a dozen boutiques across the Garden State.
I haven’t even gone home yet. Just came right here.
Maybe it was instinct.
Maybe it was some cosmic nudge.
All I know is that when I pull into the back parking lot, reserved for family only, and see his armored SUV idling outside like some steel beast—my heart stutters.
Atlas.
Here.
At my place.
No one thought to tell me?
I slam the trunk shut with a little more force than necessary, then straighten my long black maxi skirt, adjust the corset top peeking from beneath my leather jacket, and walk down the hallway with clipped, deliberate steps.
Halfway to my father’s office, I hear it.
Voices.
Deep. Intense. Familiar.
My father. My uncles. And his.
Atlas’s voice.
And then—something else.
“—is the wedding?”
The words stop me cold.
Wedding?
I blink. Shake off the heat rising in my chest.
Cool. Composed. Unbothered.
I push open the boardroom door, and six heads swivel toward me like a scene from a Mafia soap opera.
I arch a brow. “What is going on?”
Luc—my father, my mentor—sits at the head of the table with his usual impassive expression.
But his jaw is tight.
That muscle in his cheek gives him away.
He’s pissed. Or worried. Maybe both.
My uncles? Angel looks like he just got front-row seats to a cage match. Nico already looks guilty, like he knows I’m about to blow the damn doors off this room.
