Ding-Dong.
The doorbell sliced through the moment. We both turned to the sound. This was the part that scared grown men. Even Serial killers. Someone … finding out.
My eyes flicked to the iron wall clock.1:47 a.m.
I groaned and pushed off the stool. “Who the hell is that?”
Montana raised both hands. “No clue, man.”
I rushed toward the door in my flannel pajama pants. The sharp banging caused me to skip the hoodie. Whoever it was, they wanted attention. Noise, chaos. Didn’t need the cops around here tonight.
I yanked open the door.
And that was when a woman launched herself into my arms.
The brunette reeked of perfume and desperation. Her arms looped around my neck, and her mouth crashed.
I caught a flash of light.
Click.
A camera.
Somewhere in the shadows.
Crap.
I’d been set up.
Again.
By Vassili.
23
NATASHA
I’d watchthe funniest spoofs on gangster movies where the mafia dad wanted to protect their daughter from the bad boy. But when the laughter ended, I still lived in this life.
In my world, if Pop asked,Hey, should Ipopthis guy for you?,it wouldn’t be a joke. It wouldn’t be cute. It would be deadly.
And this? This was a catch-22. Lachlan owned my heart before he knew my name.The moment his eyes caught mine at Jamie and Jordyn’s wedding, I knew I’d never be the same.
But more frightening than this dilemma? Pop hadn’t mentioned the short video clip. The photos of Lachlan and some random Latina, embracing at his front door in the dead of night.
A booty call.
A hook up.
A betrayal.
And me?
I was the punchline.
Because the paparazzi didn’t stop at one clip.No. They stitched the images of his late-nightvisitorbeside every soft, romantic photo Lachlan and I had taken in Greece. Everykiss. Every smile. Every moment that once made me feel safe, treasured … loved.
How had they gotten those pictures?
