Locked.
Locked.
Panic turns to anger when I hear Ren’s voice. He says goodbye to Tommy from inside the kitchen. It’s either let the attack overcome me or let the anger take over, saving me.
I choose anger.
It’s time for this to end. I take deep breaths, trying to calm down and get myself under control. Then I get my game face on, and head straight for the kitchen to give Ren a piece of my mind.
10
Ren
Ipourmyselfasingle-malt whiskey, needing something strong to soothe the tension that has settled in my neck and shoulders. It was another long day, from having to deal with that miscreant Billie, to visiting my father and filling him in on the deal with Moretti.
That’s how I pitched the engagement to him, as a business deal. That made him prouder, putting my personal desires aside for the good of the family and becoming a real man. He believes it’s my duty to start a family and continue our legacy. It seemed like wasted breath to correct him. Plus, Billie had already snapped my patience for the day, so the last thing I needed was to fight with my dad. With everything laid out on the table, a big family dinner has been set for Sunday at the house. A chance to celebrate the engagement and welcome my fiancé into the family.
I have a feeling Lilliana is not going to love that one when I tell her.
To say that night is going to be an inevitable clusterfuck, is an understatement. Especially after I got word that she was caught running from a lingerie store earlier today. The vision alone was distracting enough, but it’s clear she isn’t going to play along.
It’s ironic how fate has shoved what I fought hard to avoid in my face. Worse, she left me no choice but to accept it. There’s more to the story than anyone knows, and it’s been nagging inside since it all began.
Lilliana might not know me, but I know her. The first time I saw her was on my mama’s birthday, the first one after my release from prison. A dangerous time for anyone around me, for the same reasons I was in jail to begin with. The day my mother died was brutal. Her murder changed the course of my teenage years. I stopped being a boy and became a man. A man filled with rage and bitterness, avenging her death and rising through the ranks in the family business.
That night I was at a friend’s club, Lilliana was on the dancefloor, eyes closed, moving to the music. I watched her for hours, transfixed by her stunning beauty and free spirit. The rhythm of her body calmed a place inside me that had been burning for destruction for years. I never could explain it to myself. Maybe it was the freedom in her dance, the way she moved like no one was watching. She was in another world, and wherever that was in her mind, is where I desperately wanted to be. Then I learned she was Moretti’s daughter, and I walked away. Not because we were enemies like we are now, but because I never messed with any woman connected in this world. There’s no point starting something when I had zero interest in settling down.
We never ran in the same circles, and I didn’t see her again until a year later. After a meeting that set my rage bubbling to the surface, I sat in my car on the streets of Bondi. Then I saw her, walking out of a coffee shop, phone to her ear and a smile on her lips. She sat at an outside table, happily chatting away while she ate alone. I stayed in my car for an hour, until she finally finished and disappeared around the corner.
And every year after that, on my mama’s birthday, was the same. It’s insane, and unexplainable, but there she was, a vision that sated my pain and settled the rage. Then six months ago, one fateful birthday, I was In Perth, in negotiations to buy a new club. In my mind, I knew it would be the first year in many that our paths wouldn’t cross. Not this far from home. Nothing prepared me for what I was about to see.
Thousands of miles away, there she was, dancing in the club like the music was made solely for her. I was close to succumbing that night, the need to know her overwhelming. But her father had been screwing us around with paying his debt, so again, the only choice was to stay away.
Then when talks and niceties failed to resolve the issue between the families, I knew exactly what to do, and exactly where to find her.
I was blinded knowing finally we’d meet. Even if it was for a moment in time. Even if it was me kidnapping her to collect a debt. In my rush to get it done, I didn’t dig deep. Didn’t do the recon I should have, and had no idea what danger she was in.
That’s the reason I couldn’t send her back to that monster. It’s the reason that keeps me from letting her run. I need to protect her. Whether it makes sense or not, I know it’s what my mama would have wanted and the reason she sent her to me.
It’s just after seven in the evening, and the first sip of whisky goes down smooth. It helps to decompress from a shitty day and to drown out the secrets I keep bottled up inside.
Tommy has left and Lilliana is somewhere in the house. Before her failed attempt at escape, their day out had been a blast. He even put his hand up for more babysitting duties.
I don’t get a chance to take another sip of my drink before the kitchen door flies open.
“OMG, this place is a fire hazard.” Lilly storms in, her hair up in a messy bun, wearing sweatpants and a cropped t-shirt. In other words, looking fucking hot. “Did you know every single window and door is locked? Every single one.”
I did, but don’t answer. Instead, I let my eyes sweep up and down her body. Even dressed in cheap department store clothes, she looks like she tastes expensive.
“What if something happens? How could you get out?” she asks, glaring at me.
“Well, I have a key. And might I ask how you know all the doors and windows are locked? Or do I even need to after what happened today?” I take another sip, watching her over the rim of the glass.
I have a feeling this night is not going to get any easier. Anger seeps from her eyes as she narrows them and stares at my face. They then drop to my drink and settle there. Without a word, she stalks to the opposite side of the kitchen island, leans across and snatches it out of my hand. I’m silent, watching as she inspects it. After swirling it a few times, she sniffs the glass, then downs the drink in one long gulp.
Not exactly how one should drink a 25-year-old sherry oak blend that costs ten times more than that piece of shit car she was driving.
“I need fresh air.” She places the glass down on the bench between us and sits on the stool. “