She was like me now. We were caught in the middle of a war between the people we'd love the most.
“Hals.”
My chest caved in at the sound of Jer’s voice. It was the first time he’d addressed me by my nickname since the night of my kidnapping. This wasn’t the time for a faintheart. I needed to persevere.
For Kay.
For Collin.
For our broken family.
While Kay fought for Collin, I would fight to make this family whole again. I stood on shaky legs, my hip flaring, annoying pain I ordered my brain to ignore as I turned to face the conflicted man standing in the doorway.
Jeremy Jones, prince of the underground, was staring at me like I was the enemy—because he and I both knew I was about to stand up for the villain.
“You got something you wanna share with the class?” he asked, his voice low, his shoulders tight with pent up anger.
I gestured to the seats around the small table.
“Take a seat, Jer. In fact, everyone take a seat.”
Here went nothing.
This is for you Kay.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Collin
“Thank you for joining me,” Romano drawled.
I remained silent, letting him think he was the one with the power here. The urge to smirk had to be swallowed back down; there would be a time and place for smugness. However, this white clothed table was not the place.
Even if his precious castle was burning to the ground as we spoke, courtesy of yours truly.
Romano showing up in California was something I hadn’t anticipated happening this soon.
After I cut the cord with Karina, sent her on her way with Xander, I got the call. He was going to sell Emily Tipponi to the highest bidder and that information found its way to me in Boston. He was playing God in a world where there wasn’t one, but that was starting to take a toll on him.
It had been only a week since I had seen him, and he looked worn.
Weak.
Pathetic.
Uninspiring.
Nevertheless, he was still dressed in a charcoal black suit, the color of night, paired with a blood red tie. Months ago, that color symbolized strength, doubling as a warning for those who stood against him, a hallmark of the blood his family spilled over the course of generations.
There were more gray hairs on his head than black now. Perhaps the most wonderful sight to me, though, was the blatant fear in his dark eyes. He tried hide it, of course, through harsh words, threats, and a cool demeanor.
But a façade could only last so long.
I was here to break it.
“What do you think of our little Ms. Tipponi?” he asked, dragging out the syllables of her family name.
I thought a lot of things about Emily Tipponi, none of which he would have the pleasure of hearing. My eyes remained on his face as I raised my whiskey glass to my lips, unhurried. After taking a sip, I answered, “She’ll do—for now.”
