Dipping my toe back into the Rothchild world might be gratuitous and baseless as a way to put an end to my bad memories, but being here tonight makes me feel powerful. Walking amongst a roomful of men who haunted me by simply being associated with my family, I feel like I am severing myself from my past once and for all. Junior’s death will also help.
I waste time looking at the items on offer at the silent auction. Some of the artwork is exactly what you’d expect—paintings of Nantucket and Montauk at sunset, the slopes of Aspen, and the eighteenth hole at Augusta. There are vases, jewelry, weekends away. It’s as bland as it is ostentatious, but it’s a good way to circle the crowd and eavesdrop on conversations. The champagne they serve to get the benefactors ready to loosen their purse strings is also helping the gossip flow, but it’s disappointing how passionate these people are about supporting Junior and my younger brother in the fight to clear my father’s name.
Lifting my glass, I hide my smirk as I speak to the small microphone hidden in a necklace I’m wearing. “I think nowmight be a good time to leak a couple of those files toThe Wall Street Journal.”
Dante chuckles, and his enthusiasm makes me smile. We sorted through the files he took from the hangar, and the journalist I spoke to on the phone atThe Journalwept when I offered him proof, if he wanted to write the story of his lifetime and kill what’s left of the Rothchild legacy. I hope that will put the final nail in the coffin, but one thing I know for sure? These people are like cockroaches. I’ll wait to see how things play out before deciding what to do next.
My younger brother’s life currently hangs in the balance. I’m hoping he wasn’t irrevocably corrupted by them, but only time will tell. I’ll be watching him closely, as he will me, since I’ll be defending cases against him as soon as I have my license to practice in hand. Just as my pack suggested, once I started studying again, and working with one of their most loyal lawyers, everything I learned came back. I even managed to sit the bar exam, and freaking ace it.
“Ladies and gentleman,” the emcee interrupts.
I pass my half-empty flute to a passing waiter on my way to the exit, listening to the apologies start. Walking out of the function, I drop the wig I wore in a trash near the doors as a wave of distress sweeps through the room when word of my brother's fatal car accident is shared. The fireball will make identification difficult but not impossible. Not that I’m concerned. The truth of the DNA report will never see the light of day because my husbands already have the coroner in their pocket.
Skipping down the stairs, I dance up to my husband. Matteo looks as dangerous as ever, in his black Tom Ford suit, the neck of his shirt open and his sleeves rolled up. And he’s leaning against the Escalade.
“Clit tease,” I whisper as I lean in for one of his sweet and slow kisses.
He smirks against my mouth, his eyes shimmering and sparkling with lust and pure, effortless love. “How do you own me so completely?”
Dante
I can feel Layne’s anxiety like I feel every one of her emotions. And much the same as always, it doesn’t matter that I can feel her inside my soul; I still need the confirmation of looking deep into her eyes to know she is okay.
Cupping the back of her neck, I drag her closer, searching for any sign she’s not coping. Yes, she’s right in front of me. I can inhale her caramel sweetness to fill my lungs, and I can still feel the magic of her mouth wrapped around my cock. But looking in her eyes and seeing her incredible strength is something I need every day.
“I’m good.” She closes her eyes and sinks into the intimacy we share. My baby girl floods all her love through our bond because she knows how desperate I am for her.
And, yeah, it fucking stuns me how deeply Layne loves. I know I’m one of the lucky few to experience the real Layne De Luca, and I’ll treasure her forever.
“You are good, but being here is not something you need to do.” I push against her cheek, letting her scent mark me wherever we touch. Her scent is an anchor and an incentive to be better.
“I’ll see how I go. I promise,” she whispers back, not even trying to hide her vulnerability from me.
“You’re so fucking brave,il mio tutto.”
She drops her head, a quietness settling through our bond. Life with Layne brings me immeasurable peace. I finally feel like a whole person again, because the love I lost when my parents were murdered paved the way for her. I never knew it was her I was waiting for. I thought it was revenge and retribution, but it was her.
“I trust you,” she whispers, her lips barely moving.
A single tear tracks down her cheek, and I catch it with a kiss. “I know you do. When I ask you to leave, you will go with Matty, and Valentine and I will finish here.”
“But you won’t rush it,” she says, confirming back to me what we’ve already agreed on.
My wife shared with me one morning how she wanted her brother punished. I didn’t push her to share the illicit details; she did that on her own. All I did was provide her a safe place to do it, in my fucking arms.
“I love you for the rest of this lifetime and the next one. Probably the next one too.”
“Actually, never leave me. I wouldn’t cope.” And then I get to witness how her caramel-colored eyes glitter and warm, like always happens when I go butter soft for my wife. “Have you got your headphones?”
It was the one thing I’ve been insistent upon. Layne is already scarred by her brother, and hearing all the different noises a man makes when they get broken isn’t something you can ever unhear. But I’ll listen on her behalf, and then when she asks, I’ll tell her honestly each fucking pain, plea, and cry for mercy the sick fuck made.
Her hand shakes as she reaches down and opens the bag. I take out the headphones, switch them on, and pair them with my phone so I can impress my girl with the playlist I have prepared for today. Lots of songs about kicking assholes to the curb, but more about endless devotion.
“You look like Minnie Mouse. I want to flip you over and fuck you right this second,” I yell, and then I laugh when she lifts the headphones off and asks me what I said.
“Nothing, baby.”
At least I know the headphones work. Switching the volume up a little louder, just in case, I take a step away from where I was blocking her view just as Valentine and Matteo drag Harrison Rothchild, commonly known as Junior, into the room.
