Page 159 of Brutal Heir

“And when he does?” Barone shot back without raising his voice. “When he comes at her with everything he has, do you think your name alone will shield her? Do you think she’ll thank you for dragging her into a war she didn’t ask for?”

“I’ll make her understand,” I said through gritted teeth, though the words sounded hollow even to me.

Barone let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “You don’t make someone understand love, Sebastian. You earn it. And right now, all you’re doing is building walls between you and her.”

I turned toward the window, staring at the café below.

Sabrina still sat there, unaware of the storm brewing in my office, unaware of the decisions being made about her life.

“She stays with me,” I said. “No one takes her away, not the judge, not you. She’s mine to protect, and I won’t let her go.”

Barone exhaled slowly. “You’re so much like your father, Sebastian. That same unyielding pride. That same refusal to listen. I thought you’d be different.”

I turned back to him sharply. “I’m nothing like him.”

“No?” He arched a brow. “Then prove it. Show her she’s more than just a piece in your game. Because right now, that’s all she’ll see when she looks at you.” When he reached the door, he paused, his hand on the handle. “You have time to fix this. Don’t waste it.”

He left without another word, the door clicking shut behind him.

The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the faint hum of the city outside.

I returned to the window, and the view it gave me of the café.

Barone’s words echoed in my mind, his warning impossible to ignore.

He was wrong.

He had to be.

CHAPTER 43

SEBASTIAN

She was hiding from me.

I’d arrived home after several late meetings only to learn that she had stormed to the upper level.

She then spent the evening dragging her personal items back into her old bedroom before locking herself in.

She hadn’t even come out to eat.

This was unacceptable.

Tearing off my tie, I kicked off my shoes and ripped open the buttons of my confining dress shirt. The urge to confront her was strong, but instinct told me that approach would only push her farther away. I needed her to see the man beneath the title, not the ruthless strategist she loathed.

Once I was dressed in a black T-shirt and jeans, I padded barefoot down the corridor to her bedroom.

As I raised my fist to bang on the door, I paused. Glancing down both sides of the corridor to make sure no one observed my foolishness, I pressed my ear to the door.

Silence.

No venting her anger to a friend, or worse, her mother, on the phone—or even, much worse, crying.

With a sigh, I curled my fingers into a fist and pounded on the door.

“Go away. I said I’m not hungry.”

“Sabrina. It’s Sebastian.”