Page 47 of Dancing With Distraction

“I feel a ten percent share is more than enough,” says Ronnie.

I arch a brow, trying to keep my cool. It doesn’t matter to me—I just need him to open up a little, so I can see his empire and meet his contacts. But if I agree to this, I’d be making myself look a fool. “Ten was never even an option, Ronnie. It wasn’t then and it isn’t now.”

“I agree,” my father snaps.

“Maybe now isn’t the time to discuss business,” Ronnie announces, smiling wide. “We should be celebrating.” Then he wanders off.

I narrow my eyes. “You realise I’m not marrying Vivian if he doesn’t agree to thirty.”

My father slaps me on the back. “He will agree. He’s playing games.”

I head up to my office, sit at the desk, and open my laptop. I tap into the camera system and Victoria fills my screen. She’s dressed now, her cheeks flushed pink with that ‘just fucked’ look, and the man she was riding minutes ago is heading for the door.

Jealousy rages through me and my palms itch to blister her skin. If she thinks fucking someone else will make me stay away, she’s wrong.

Me: Finished already?

I watch as she opens the message and rolls her eyes.

Victoria: Voyeurism is illegal.

Me: I’m coming over tomorrow. We’re going to talk.

She stuffs her phone into her bag, and I watch as she scans the flat. She’s leaving, holding the same bag she’d packed a few days ago.

Me: Don’t leave. Even if we decide to drop the agreement, you can stay at the apartment.

She leaves, closing the door and pushing the keys back through the letterbox. I groan, slamming the laptop shut and spinning my chair so I can look out into the night.

Victoria: I’ve already decided, remember? Stop texting me. Leave me alone. DISTRACTION!!!

I stare at her safe word. This will be the one time I ignore it.

I open the drawer and take out the file Roman gave me, laying it open on the desk. A picture of Marcus stares back at me, and I move it so I can read the police report. Roman was right, it’s not pretty. There’re a few reports from exes he’d stalked and accusations of sexual assault and domestic violence, none of which have stuck. The only charge he’s served time for is the child sexual assault.

I find the victim statement in the form of a written transcript taken from a police video interview. I scan it, shuddering when the child explains what happened. How the fuck he got the charge changed to sexual touching is a mystery. There are plenty of bent judges in the world, but not many would cover up this sort of sick crime.

I check the judge’s name. He’s not one I’ve had any dealings with, but Roman is already looking into him for me.

The office door opens and I grit my teeth in irritation. My father enters, holding up a bottle of scotch. “You’re working during your engagement party,” he says, taking two glasses from my bar. “Good man.”

“Actually,” I say casually, “I wanted to speak with you about this.” I slide the file towards him, and he sits, taking the file and scanning the report. I take the scotch and pour us each one.

“Why are you showing me this?”

“I want him dealt with,” I say.

His eyes meet mine. “Why?”

“You can see the reason he went to prison,” I say, taking a drink. “He deserves it.”

My father laughs, closing the file. “You think you’re some kind of modern-day hero now, picking off the bad guys and ending them?”

“I have my reasons.”

“You know how this works, moy syn. You state your case, and I give my permission. Without a case, the answer is no.”

“Can’t you just trust me on this?”

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