Gianni approaches me then, his face a little more serious. “Listen. He seems like a solid dude. And I know he pays you well. Eliza nearly shit herself the last time you sent money. But I still think you should watch yourself, sis.”
My eyes meet his and I realize my little brother isn’t a kid anymore. In many ways, he hasn’t been for a long time. But right now, I see it even more. My brother is on the edge of being a man. “What makes you say that?” I ask.
“Don’t get me wrong. I think he’s legit. And under that stuffy, expensive outer layer, he’s kind of a chill guy. But underthatlayer…” Gianni pauses for a second. “I think he’s hiding something.”
I do my best not to swallow before I respond. I don’t want him to detect anything. “Like what?”
“I don’t know. But men like him… they’re always hiding something. All that status and money. The way he carries himself. I just think you should be careful, you know? Don’t get too close.”
“I’m ready!” Bella pops out of nowhere. I jump, then force a smile.
We say goodbye to Gianni, who turns on some kind of new age metal music before he goes back to work on his car.
As Bella and I drive to the mall, I can’t help but think about Gianni’s words.
Hiding something.
Watch yourself.
Inside, all I could think was,You have no idea.
But that’s not the part that really made my stomach bottom out.
Don’t get too close.
I definitely wasn’t going to tell my protective little brother, but I’m pretty sure it’s too late for that.
43
RANSOME
It’s late when I get to the penthouse.
Usually I would just go home after a long day. But today, I feel like seeing Amara. I feel like having a glass of whiskey and having her call me Mr. Rozanov in a more intimate setting. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t love the way she caters to me at the office. And after a day like today, I want that special treatment at home as well.
I find the lights dim when I walk in. At first, I assume she’s asleep. But when I flip the switch, I find her sitting on the couch, legs tucked under her, a glass of red wine in her hands.
“I thought you were asleep,” I say, stripping out of my jacket.
“No. Just enjoying the quiet.”
“Hard day?” I ask, though the question seems irrelevant. She hung out with her siblings most of the day, which, if I know her (and I do), is her favorite thing to do.
“Did you go to my house?”
I reach in the cabinet and pull out a highball glass before popping the top on a bottle of aged whiskey.
“Your apartment?”. I know that’s not what she means. And guessing by the way her expression falls flat, I think it’s safe to say she knows I know that’s not what she means.
“No,” she snaps before getting off the couch and marching over to me. She’s barefoot, wearing a silky, black pajama set, and smells freshly showered. “Not my apartment. My house, where my siblings live.”
I take a sip of my whiskey. Let it hit my stomach and flood into my nerves before answering.
“Yes. I went to your old house.”
“Why?” she asks, setting her wine glass down on the counter so hard it nearly cracks.
I take another sip. “Because I wanted to see what kind of place they’re living in.”
