Page 77 of Broken Princess

His comment shocks me and I can’t help but retort, “If you admire me so much, why the fuck did you have your son kill me?”

“Well, many reasons, but mostly because you were his consequence,” he says, eyes devoid of emotion.

“Elaborate,” I demand, clenching my jaw at his callousness, trying not to give him the reaction he so desperately wants from me.

“Well,” he says and pulls out his chair, assuming his throne, “you’re right, of course you are. The Syndicate was working as intended. There was no real reason to upset the balance. No good one, anyway. We’d finally stopped the infighting, and both families were mostly getting along. It was manageable discontent as opposed to war and it was fucking lucrative.” His demeanour shifts and a disquieting look crosses his features. “That is, until my son’s unhealthy interest with you became too obvious.”

“Unhealthy interest? Is what we’re calling it?” I sneer at him.

“Careful now, Aurora,” he warns starkly. “Don’t mistake my candour for fealty of any kind. He is still my heir.”

“An heir you have to clean up after. Tell me Salvatore, do you think you will ever trust him enough to hand over the reins?” I force a melodic cadence to my words, hoping my attitude pisses him off.

A flurry of emotions cascade over his features before he schools them. Anger, fear, dread, then nothing.

He levels his glare on me and not a cell in my body is prepared to baulk under the weight of it. “Once your father suspected you were in danger, he wouldn’t let it go and any move he was planning would have resulted in the dissolution of The Syndicate. I had no choice but to intervene.”

“Intervene?” I arch a brow at him incredulously. “You mean slaughter him?”

“He made plans to eliminate my heir. Any action I took was in defence of our family.”

Fuck, of course he did. The realisation that, despite the risk, my dad was fighting for me enfolds me like a warm embrace which fills me with as much solace as it does sorrow.

“And me? Why have Max kill me? Surely, he’s more pliable when he has a…” the next part is harder to force out than I would like, “when he has a distraction?”

“You’re not wrong. But eliminating you, my dear, was and is a necessity.”

“A necessity?” I say, my temper rising, simmering beneath the surface, begging for release.

“Well, if it hadn’t been for you, none of this would have happened. My son’s obsession with you jeopardised our entire organisation. He evidently can’t be trusted to make the necessary sacrifices. He can’t be allowed to keep you.” His control wavers, his eyes burning with fury, mouth drawn into a thin, venomous sneer.

And now I cannot keep my countenance. Here I was thinking Salvatore had half a grip on reality. The laugh that escapes me starts small and grows to a near hysterical cackle. Nico, who’s been still throughout our interaction so far, is staring at me with concern.

“I can tell you right now my patience for you is wearing beyond thin, Miss Bianchi.”

I try to collect myself, wiping the tears away from my eyes. Fuck me.

“Sorry,” I say cheerfully, still unable to temper my outburst. “I’m fucking sorry, but how are you this delusional?”

Standing, he’s around the desk faster than I would expect for a man of his age. He’s older than my father was by a fair whack, pushing at least seventy. Pulling a gun out of a shoulder holster under his suit jacket, he presses it to the centre of my forehead.

“It’s not wise to mock the man who holds your life in his hands.”

“Believe me, I know. It’s a lesson I learned quickly from your sadistic progeny.”

He removes the safety. “Explain what you mean.”

My eyes bore into his as I say the next words. “The only thing that has ever tempered your son’s proclivities has been me. You were fucked the minute you ordered him to kill me.”

I can see from the slight flinch he knows I’m not wrong, so I continue.

“Tell me. How’s he been the last few weeks? Cool? Calm? Collected? Or has he been erratic? Difficult to track down?”

Salvatore pushes the barrel of the gun harder against my forehead, sending me back into the guard behind me. If I have to be on my knees between two massive pricks, I’d rather it were in a more literal sense.

I square up to him, well as much as I can in my current position. “Your son is a fucking psychopath—you know it and I know it. You must have helped him before me, helped cover up his victims. I’d be willing to bet you haven’t had to lift a finger to protect him since we got married.”

He takes a step back and perches on the top of his desk, hands at either side of him on the desktop, gun still under his right palm.

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