I follow her down the hallway, my heels clicking with each step. The house smells fantastic. It appears father is trying hard to impress Lorenzo because he pulled out all the stops.
Speaking of the asshole . . . when we reach the dining room, my father stands right outside the doors, hand clamped around a decanter of scotch.
That’s great, Dad. Perfect time to get sloshed.
But why should today be any different? Just because we have a Mafia guy in our house who wants to kill us.
Yes, please . . . Let’s continue with business as usual.
He looks like shit. His collar is too stiff, as is his tie, but it’s his bloodshot eyes that really give him away.
“You’re late.” He glances at me and then looks away just as fast.
I fold my arms across my chest. “You scheduled a family dinner to celebrate selling me. Forgive me if I didn’t rush.”
His jaw flexes. “This arrangement will save us.”
“At my expense.”
“That’s enough,” my mother hisses. “Please. Don’t do this here.”
“Where then?” I ask, voice low. “Or better yet, when? During the vows?”
Before anyone can answer, the dining room door opens, and one of the members of the staff bows slightly. “The room is ready.”
It’s now or never.
We step inside.
The dining table is set like a stage, with crystals gleaming and candles flickering.
Oxygen explodes from my lungs as I see the room isn’t empty.
At the far end, in my father’s usual chair, sits the man who stole everything from me.
Lorenzo wears a black shirt open at the throat, tattoos teasing his collar.
His rings catch the candlelight as he lifts a glass, the metal glinting.
If I think there’s a chance I’ll be able to walk in without catching his attention, I’m instantly proved wrong. Because as soon as I step inside the room, his gaze finds me instantly. For a moment, everything goes quiet.
He rakes his eyes over me slowly—not hungry, not soft. Assessing. Cataloging the girl he once knew against the woman he now owns.
His mouth curves, and it’s not in a smile that forms on his full lips. It’s something colder.
Shit.
This is not good.
The room begins to spin.
Get it together, Victoria.
Don’t fall on your face. You can’t appear weak.
“Little Bird.” Lorenzo’s voice is as smooth as an expensive whiskey. “You clean up nicely.”
I lift my chin, forcing my feet to move, each step measured. “You’re in my father’s chair.”
