Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 72969 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72969 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
He’d let them touch me, mark me, break me down until I was a shell wrapped in silk. But threaten me? Scare me in a way that made him look weak or vulnerable? That he wouldn’t allow.
Plus, I was one of his most valuable assets. Like his cars, his boats. He wanted them all—myself included—to look as clean and shiny as possible.
I see Hawk’s throat work as he swallows, his expression unreadable now. Maybe it’s the silence between us. Or maybe he’s realizing I’m not just some broken doll from a wealthy house. I’m haunted—worn out, used up, and still standing.
“He’s dead, right?” Hawk asks, voice low.
I nod.
“Good.” He doesn’t blink when he says it. Doesn’t flinch. “But that doesn’t mean he’s finished with you.”
And for a second, I feel it too—that cold breath at the back of my neck, the kind that whispers you’re still his.
“Are you saying you think this note came from my father?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t believe in ghosts. But I do believe in legacies. In the kind of rot a man like that leaves behind.”
I swallow hard, the air suddenly heavier, tighter in my lungs. “You think someone’s carrying on what he started?”
“Maybe,” Hawk says, voice like gravel, eyes locked on mine. “Or maybe someone who knew him. Someone who still sees you the way he did.”
My stomach twists. “Like I’m a possession.”
“Or a threat,” he adds quietly. “Depends on what they think you know. Or what they think you are.”
I let that sink in. The silence that follows isn’t empty. It’s thick with old memories and buried warnings. The kind that don’t stay dead, no matter how deep you dig the grave.
“I’m going to get security for you,” he says.
“No.” I shake my head. “I never wanted that. Vinnie offered it, but I love being…normal, you know?”
“You want to be normal?” he says. “Or safe?”
Tears well in the bottoms of my eyes.
I sniff them back.
I stopped crying over the fear of danger long ago. I had to, or I’d have become dehydrated.
I let out a nervous chuckle. “There’s no substance, you said, so the only thing this note can do to me is give me a papercut.”
He shakes his head. “This isn’t a laughing matter, Daniela.”
“I know. I wasn’t trying to make light of anything.”
“Have you called the police?”
The police? Is he kidding me? Back home, I learned to hate the police. They were all paid off by my father. They didn’t wear badges. They wore leashes. I could’ve been bleeding in the street and they would’ve stepped over me to open the door for him.
So no. I don’t trust cops. Not here, not anywhere.
I shake my head. “No. I haven’t called them. And I won’t.”
Hawk doesn’t argue. He just watches me, something tightening in his jaw. “You think whoever sent this is connected to your past?”
I nod once. “I don’t believe in coincidence. Not in my world.”
“All right.” Hawk rakes his fingers through his hair. “Let’s assume for a minute that maybe it’s not from someone from your past. Someone associated with your father.”
I resist rolling my eyes. Who the hell else would it be?
“All right,” I say.
“Is there anyone else? Anyone you’ve met since you’ve been here in the States?”
“No. Only Vinnie and Raven and the servants. The members of your family.” Then a thought occurs to me. “Though I did have my first day of culinary school today, and the guy I partnered up with in class flirted with me a little. Asked me out to a water park.”
Hawk’s jaw goes rigid.
“But he’s a really nice guy. His name is Jordan, and we were sitting with two other women. So I suggested we make it a foursome.”
“You know anything else about him? Where he’s from? What his backstory is?”
I bite my lip, shrug my shoulders. “He works in a restaurant. Wants to become a chef.”
Hawk is still rigid.
“Trust me,” I say. “If you could see him, you would know there’s no way he did any of this.”
“Guys who do things like this”—Hawk holds up the valentine—“are really good at hiding who they really are.” He clears his throat. “But we’ll put a pin in Jordan. Anyone else from Colombia?”
“Well, my father’s dead. Diego Vega is dead. Everyone else connected to my family is dead.”
Hawk clears his throat again. “Are you sure? I mean… You know how many men… You know…” He rakes his fingers through his hair once more. “Fuck, Daniela. I can’t believe anyone would do that to you.”
I swallow. “Well, at least I was fifteen. Poor Belinda—”
“Damn it!” Hawk slams his fist into the drywall with a crack like a gunshot, his knuckles tearing through plaster and leaving a jagged hole that trembles with the force of his fury.
I gasp. I’ve seen men get violent before. I don’t like it.