Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 113710 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113710 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
I don’t want a drink. I want to go back to Lucia’s apartment and finish what she started. But if I can find out what they’re planning, I can implement steps to prevent any impact it might cause Camille.
After handing me a glass of whiskey, she gestures for me to sit. I do, albeit hesitantly.
I swirl the murky liquid as she goes straight for the jugular. “Your offer was unfair.” She knocks back a two-finger shot of whiskey without flinching. “Twenty million for full custody of a child whose father is a multibillionaire is absurd.”
I pfft. Of course this is about money. When isn’t it?
Her smile is thin and practiced when the only thing I can do to stop myself from retaliating is to down the double shot of whiskey.
She pours herself another glass before angling the bottle my way. I decline her offer without words. The brief sample I had tasted like garbage. It’s too gritty for the smoothness the label claims.
Whiskey sloshes over the rim of her crystal glass when she spins back around to face me. “Child support alone will exceed that over eighteen years, so it’s understandable that we’re seeking full custody.”
“A judge will never side with that.”
“Don’t be so sure.” Her words shoot out of her mouth like poison-tipped daggers. “Judges favor mothers. They always have. And you, Dante”—she steps closer, lowering her voice—“better learn to play fair, or you may lose more than your fortune.”
My hands curl into fists. I am furious. Not solely because of the threat, but because I now have something to lose.
Someone to lose.
And this bitch fucking knows it.
Doesn’t mean I don’t understand my rights, though.
“If you want to go down that route, I won’t hesitate to squash you like a bug.” My words slur at the end of the sentence, and I try to shake off the wooziness bombarding me. “Even without the evidence I have, your daughter will never pass mandatory drug testing.”
“And neither will you.”
I glare at her, lost. “I don’t do drugs. Never have and ne-never will.”
What the fuck? Why am I slurring? I only had one drink—one drink that made Anna’s mother smirk smugly when I downed it.
That fucking bitch.
“You… you…” I fall forward more than I race for her. Whatever she gave me dissolved in my drink as fast as it hit my bloodstream. I’m on my ass in an instant, and the world spins too fast for me to grasp. “I’m… going to kill you. You’re… fucking dead.”
As bright lights float in front of my eyes, Anna’s mother stands over me. “If you remember this, which I highly doubt you will, before you do anything stupid, remember you filed a custody motion with the courts. If we go missing, the first person they’ll interrogate is you. I’d hate for them to have to question Camille. I had four years to tell her a heap of scary bedtime stories about her father and the men he lives with. You’ve barely had six months to change the narrative. We both know whose stories will stick with her the most.”
It’s a fight, but I work up enough saliva to spit in her face.
Her disgust is the last thing I see before the dancing lights fade to black.
Chapter 24
Lucia
Before sunrise, I stand barefoot in Dante’s kitchen, hair in a messy knot, eyes burning from almost no sleep. Each time I closed them, I pictured Dante disappearing with that woman in his arms. Throughout the night, I told myself it doesn’t matter. Dante can associate with anyone he wants.
As quickly as denials rushed through my head, a large, imaginary knife stabbed into my chest painfully enough that I had to sit up and breathe through it.
Sleep was hopeless, so I threw off the blanket that commenced my shameful act hours ago and snuck into Dante’s kitchen to help myself to a mug of expensive coffee.
Now I pour freshly squeezed orange juice into a plastic cup. The citrus scent soothes my spinning thoughts, but the occasional question still seeps through the cracks. Where did Dante go? Why did he leave? And most importantly, who was the woman he left with?
Most of my questions are inquisitive, but some are worrying. Dante hasn’t left Camille overnight once in the past week. He wakes her every morning and tucks her in every night. If he doesn’t return soon, he’ll miss the first half of their routine.
As I place the orange juice in the refrigerator to cool, a knock sounds at the door. Except it isn’t a knock. It’s heavier, more a boot hitting wood than a hand.
My heart jumps into my throat as an unexpected parcel of hope streaks across my face. Far too eagerly, I dry my hands with a tea towel and then hurry to the door. When I open it, the face I’m anticipating doesn’t reflect back at me. Marco isn’t as tall as Dante. His hair is lighter, and his eyes aren’t as intense. Although he belongs in the category of handsome, I’m doubtful they’re related by blood.