Vittoria
I’m not sure what the hell just happened, but at the mention of Emma, I cross the room on shaky legs and sit. Honestly, I could use the drink because what the fuck was that? And how can he just walk away so unaffected? Casual and cool like this is a normal day, a normal thing.
Bastian comes to sit beside me on the sofa but keeps some distance between us.
“How old is Emma? About five?” Amadeo asks.
I nod.
“You love her. Is that right?”
“Of course, I do. Is she okay? Did something happen to her?”
He shrugs. “As far as we know, she’s fine.”
I exhale, swallow the rest of my whiskey, and bite my lip, but my relief is short-lived.
“For now,” Bastian adds.
I feel the blood drain from my face. “You can’t hurt her. She’s a child.”
“We wouldn’t hurt a child. Ever,” Amadeo says almost angrily.
“Then I don’t understand.”
“How safe is she in that house? How safe was she with your father?” Bastian asks.
I turn to him, confused. It’s hard to keep up with their questions, and I wonder how they know so much.
“She was in the car when your mother was killed, wasn’t she?”
I don’t have to answer. Anyone with access to public records would know that.
“Was she supposed to survive?” Amadeo asks, no joking in his tone.
“What does that mean?” My stomach turns.
They watch me so closely I feel like a caged animal. I am that, aren’t I? “Do you want her out of your brother’s control or not?”
“Don’t play with me. Not about this. Tell me what you want and what it has to do with my sister.”
Amadeo swallows the last of his whiskey and stands. “You are very easy to read, do you know that?”
I get to my feet and throw my empty glass at him. He ducks just in time, and it crashes against the wall, crystal shards raining down to the parquet floor.
“Temper,” Bastian says as Amadeo looks at the wall. It all pisses me off. The fact that they can be so casual.
I fist my hands, and it takes all I have not to attack them. It would be stupid. There are two of them, and one of me, and I couldn’t even take on the one, much less both at once. I know physically I’ll lose like I did last time. Like I would every time.
“Stop playing fucking games with me!”
“This isn’t a game, little Dandelion. It never was,” Bastian says, tone dead serious.
“Tell me what you want and what my sister has to do with it.”
“Tomorrow, we will have dinner together,” Amadeo announces.
I blink, taken aback.