“You had my father killed,” I say, my voice tightening as I think about him. About the day I looked for him in the audience at my performance. When I couldn’t find him, I instantly knew something bad had happened to him.
Because he never missedanythingthat was important to me.
He always made me his priority.
But to my mother, I was her pawn.
“Your father died in a car accident,” she says quietly, her eyes set on my lips instead of meeting my gaze.
“Because you paid someone to kill him. I’ve always had a strange feeling about it.”
I pull the cool metal coin from my pocket and throw it to her, getting immense pleasure when it smacks her on the arm as shetries to block it from hitting her face. God forbid her most recent face job be ruined.
When it lands on the gold comforter, my mother looks at it, something settling over her eyes. I’m not sure what it is, but it’s not regret. I do know that. Not even an ounce.
“I just want to know why before I kill you,” I say.
She gasps and snaps her gaze to my face. “I’m your mother.”
Blinded by rage, I grab the nearest vase of flowers and hurl it at her. “And I’m your daughter!” I shout. “Your fucking daughter, who you tried to murder!”
Water soaks her, and she leaps out of bed, wiping at her nightgown, growling in annoyance. God, the woman is such a self-centered cunt.
“Why?” I ask as I take a step toward her, one hand raised, my gun pointed at her. “Why did you kill my father and then try to do the same to me? Why not take us both out at the same time?”
“You’ve lived in this world your entire life, Lacey. Do you really have to ask that?” she asks casually, the condescending tone I’ve heard all my life in her voice. The evil tone. “Everything in this life revolves around money. It’s what makes the world go round, after all.”
Money.
Of course. She got life insurance after my father died. And my trust. I didn’t have that until I turned twenty-five. If she had succeeded in killing me, she would have inherited the half a billion my father left for me.
My eyes burn with tears, my shoulders trembling slightly as I soak it in. I take a step toward her, my throat tight with emotion that is a mix of rage and sadness.
“You bitch,” I whisper.
The sound of the bedroom door opening startles my mother as she backs toward the wall. I knew it was only a matter of timebefore someone showed up. I don’t even have to glance behind me to know who it is.
Kian and Luciano.
My Daddy and my family.
“Luciano,” she gasps as they approach closer.
I can smell Kian’s cologne. It’s like a warm blanket being draped around my shoulders.
He’s here.
He won’t let me fall.
Luciano says nothing to my mother. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him stop a couple of feet to the side, a step behind me.
“Angel,” Kian murmurs gently, walking up to me, his breath warm on my neck. “You good?”
“Me? Good?” I huff softly. “I don’t think I’m even a little good right now. I’m not sure I’ll ever be.”
His fingers brush against my back, slowly sliding up my spine while I stare at my mother with a hatred I never realized I had until now, my gun pointed at her. The longer I hold it, the heavier the dark metal gets.
“You will be,” he says firmly. “Because I’ll make sure you are. And if it takes time for that to happen, I’m still going to be right fucking here to hold you through it all.”
