I shoved the key in and turned.
The memories were like ghosts, lurking, haunting with each step into the darkness. They washed over me like a holy baptism that had me frozen in place.
This man.
This place.
I sucked in a shaky breath and squeezed my eyes shut. How had we ended up like this? And how the hell did we even begin to fix it?
No time to open up Pandora’s Box, I finally found the strength to move through the apartment and start my search, and I knew just where to start.
His office.
My white Adidas tennis sneakers squeaked against the black marble floor that was so clean a person could eat off it. I guess one got good at cleaning when blood was a daily thing.
Stupidly, that thought had my lips twitching at the times he’d come home covered in blood, not lipstick, like he wanted to prove to me that he was on a different path, one of revenge and retribution.
Not of seduction.
Sex.
Fucking.
His office door was open. I walked in and flicked on the light.
Had I not known him, I’d think the office belonged to some old man with a whiskey fetish. I walked by the crystal decanters that were filled with the brown liquor that used to make me want to vomit. For some reason, in this office, in this scenario, I smiled.
Maybe because they were full.
My fingers trailed the simple wood until I reached the stained black table.
It was massive but clean.
His desktop computer was asleep; his chair had clearly not been sat in for a while.
The blinds were closed.
The room was somewhat dark, making this entire moment seem that much more unnerving.
I moved to sit in his chair and did a small spin, stopping myself with my shoe as something caught my eye.
A USB drive was shoved into his computer.
Narrowing my eyes, I grabbed the mouse and woke up the screen.
Password protected, of course.
On a whim, I typed in my name, thinking it a bit vain and stupid, and nearly fell out of the chair when the computer roared to life.
The desktop showed file after file of things I probably shouldn’t be looking at.
But the USB?
It was labeled: Finished contracts.
Curious, I double-clicked several names, and aliases started appearing on the screen, pictures, names, ages, families they were a part of, and most importantly, the cost of the contract.
When it was finally done loading, I clicked on the last month.
Hands shaking, I slowly read through the contracts and landed on Tristian Sinacore.
Dead.
Knife.
Contract: Closed.
Amount: Undisclosed.
Before I could investigate it further, a shadow fell over the desk.
“The hell are you doing, Red?” Romeo roared in a deadly voice. “Because to me, it looks like you broke into my computer. You don’t trust me? Why dig around for what’s already been solved?”
Slowly, I lifted my chin. “You took any evidence of his death away. Why wouldn’t I be curious?”
He snapped, “Do yourself a favor, Eden. Stay out of the fucking family business before you get yourself hurt.”
“Is that a threat?” I gasped.
Eyes cold, he just shook his head, answering, “It could be, to the right people, but never to me.” He moved, and I flinched away.
With a frown, he continued raising his hand until he lifted my chin and then tilted my head to the side.
Below my ear was the only bruise I still held, the only one I knew he hadn’t seen after washing off my makeup that night.
I’d done a good job with waterproof foundation. I’d done an even better job keeping my hair down. “What the fuck is this?” he hissed.
“As you said…” I jerked away from him and stood, hovering over his desk, my hands pressed into the wood, “Mind your own business before you get hurt.”
“You flinched,” he whispered. “I would never hurt you.”
I sighed and squeezed my eyes shut. “And yet, it seems to be the only thing you’re good at, hurting me, hurting yourself. Maybe one day you’ll decide what you want, but I doubt it.” I slammed the keys onto the desk, hating his hurt expression after I shoved past him, leaving him alone in that empty office, that empty penthouse with his dark thoughts.
With his truth.
He’d just awakened the one person he could never say no to.
Me.CHAPTER THIRTY“Being a villain is great. Even though I’ve only gotten to do it a few times.” —Shawn Ashmore
Eden
Then: One year laterThe last year was a rollercoaster of emotions, to say the least. Twelve months had come and gone since the evening Tristian held a gun over my heart, and since then, he’d changed again. Although his moods shifted rather quickly. He at least tried to resemble the man I once knew.
We both did.
For Naz.
For us.
For our family to stay together.
I started having intense flashes and sparks of emotion when it came to certain things. It mostly happened when I was around Tristian. The sentiments he sparked within me were familiar yet foreign.