That power-hungry, pussy-eating bitch would sell me back to my father faster than I could blink. There was still a five-million-dollar bounty on my head—my father put it there. Virginia would collect it. That woman loved money more than her own reflection.
My teeth ground together. Rage burned through my fear. This was bad. I couldn't go back to Maryland.
My father had been trying to auction me off since I was sixteen. His only daughter. His biggest disappointment. He hated me because I wasn't some worthless son he could mold into an heir. To him, I was just a bargaining chip. A pretty little pawn.
If I went back, he'd lock me up. Stuff me in a gilded cage and throw away the key until he found some rich bastard to sell me to.
No. I wouldn't go back.
But how the fuck was I getting out of this?
I was naked. Handcuffed. No weapons. No allies.
And the man who'd taken me?
He wasn't like the others.
Tears wouldn't work. Neither would a smile. I couldn't offer my body and expect him to fold.
He was different.
Dangerous to someone like me.
I had no idea how to play him.
But I'd figure it out.
Because if I didn't?
I'd end up married off to some crime boss—or dead.
Chapter Eight — Vinny
I found myself standing at Bael's door. I could hear the sound of his newborn crying through the thick wood. I had already knocked and been waiting more than a minute, but I was prepared to wait longer. I needed to talk to him.
The door finally swung open another minute later. Bael stood holding a squirming brown baby in one arm. She was gorgeous. Her parents had named her Athena. Their son Terry was almost three now. Seeing and being around them made me think about children of my own, so I didn't come around often, no matter how many times Egypt told me I was welcome.
Bael's expression shifted from surprise to mild annoyance when he saw me. He was always annoyed with anyone who wasn't Egypt.
"Come in," he said, stepping aside. His voice was tired but not unwelcoming.
I stepped inside. The scent of jerk and baby powder hit me like a wave. It was an odd mix, but somehow it fit the family. I followed him upstairs to his office. It was dimly lit, cluttered with bottles, papers, and baby gear. Fatherhood looked like chaos on him, but he was used to chaos, so he was thriving despite appearances.
Egypt appeared from the hallway, her gaze flicking between Bael and me before she swooped in and snatched the baby from his arms. She rolled her eyes at him. I guess she was mad at him.
"I made spaghetti," she said, her tone clipped. Then she added, "The Black way. You want some?"
I chuckled, shaking my head. "No, thank you."
Egypt had once explained to me that there was a Black American way, a Haitian way, and an Italian way to make spaghetti. I didn't argue. I wasn't about to step into that minefield. She disappeared with the baby, leaving Bael and me alone in the cluttered office.
Bael didn't waste time with small talk. He never did. He just leaned against his desk, arms crossed, and waited for me to start.
"Why are you here?"
I told him everything—the warehouse, the deal gone wrong, the girl I thought was just some homeless witness who turned out to be Demetrius Lucas's daughter. And then I told him the part that had been eating at me: how she looked like my wife.
Bael leaned back, rubbing his jaw as he processed it all. Then he shrugged, like it was the simplest thing in the world. "Keep her."
