“I’ll marry her,” I said calmly. “Tell them I’m ready.”
“You surprise me,” he said.
“I know,” I replied. I wasn’t backing out.
If she’s broken, it means someone has broken her.
And that meant somebody owed.
“I’ll be speaking to them about their heiress personally,” he assured me.
I walked out of the room without replying.
Laurent was halfway down the hall, leaning against the wall like he was in front of a corner store.
He always thought he was bigger than the program.
I smiled mischievously.
“Damn,” I said. “You ain’t got your own crib? You always shacking up here? Grown men don’t live with they grandpa.”
He smirked back.
“And grown men don’t let their grandfather dictate who they can stick their dick in. Especially not a crackhead.”
I laughed. I knew he had been listening. He was a gossip boy.
“Bianca still snorting coke off yours?”
His smile didn’t fade.
“Actually,” he said, adjusting his cuffs. “She is.”
He stepped closer.
“It’s crazy watching you go from a poly playboy to a guardian husband. This family really fell off.” He leaned in. “And you’re the face of it.”
For a second, something dark flickered in my chest.
“Si tu étais vraiment un homme, tu ne vivrais pas dans l'ombre d'un homme mourant.”If you were really a man, you wouldn’t live in the shadow of someone dying.
He frowned.
I leaned closer. “Souviens-toi de ça. Je n'hérite pas du pouvoir. Je le prends.”Remember this. I don’t inherit power. I take it.
He stared at me for a second longer, then laughed under his breath and lit his cigar.
“Enjoy your bullshit,” he said, walking off.
I stood there longer than I wanted to admit.
Laurent didn’t scare me.
But he was dangerous.
And I knew that.
I walked outside and got into the car.
