Page 211 of Remy

I don’t know what the fuck I’m meant to do or if I should’ve left Ollie unsupervised. I don’t know a damn thing apart from how messed up I’ll be if something happens to her. And the farther I drive, the faster my thoughts race in panic.

“So what’s our plan?” Salvo asks once we’re a few blocks from his townhouse.

“Our plan?”

“Yes, our plan. Why else do you think I’m here?”

“I dunno, maybe to rub my face in my mistakes, because that’s what it feels like.” I force my gaze out my side window, trying and failing to lessen my annoyance. “Do you have any suggestions?”

He falls quiet for a moment, the silent contemplation making me uncomfortable. He usually acts as if he knows everything. Without pause or need for reflection.

“I’m honestly fresh out of ideas,” he mutters. “Lorenzo is hard to read sometimes. Matthew thinks the sun shines out of the old man’s ass, but I’m yet to see the glow.”

I grunt, despising the visual.

“I’ve got your back, though.” He unclasps his belt as I pull up to his drive. “Whatever your dumb ass needs, I’ll help fight for.”

“Thanks, asshole.”

“You’re welcome, Casanova.”

He pulls out his phone, using an app to open the head-high metal gate leading into his courtyard. I park beside Lorenzo’s Rolls-Royce.

It’s Matthew’s black BMW that raises my hackles.

“Our brother is here?” I cut the engine, my pulse increasing with foreboding.

“Yeah.” Salvo opens his door. “I didn’t know he was in town until Lorenzo gave the order to find you.”

Matthew must have ratted on me.

Fucking snake.

I shove from the car and stalk to the house, passing Lorenzo’s guard to let myself into Salvatore’s foyer.

I hear them talking—my backstabbing brother and our controlling uncle— the murmured words trailing from the far end of the house.

I can’t fucking believe this.

My relationship with Matthew may have been distant over the years, but I thought we were closing the gap. Instead, he decided to throw me under the bus to climb farther up Lorenzo’s ass.

I storm down the hall, clenching my fists, wishing I still had my gun as Salvo enters the house.

“Take your shoes off,” Salvo yells. “I just had the tile polished, you fucking Neanderthal.”

I keep storming, keep raging, keep trying to hold my fucking temper but at this point, there’s no escaping the detonation.

I walk into Salvatore’s library, finding Matthew seated on one of the caramel leather sofas, an ankle kicked over his opposite knee, his arm lazily stretched against the shoulder-high back rest while our uncle stands in front of the bay windows facing the view of Inner Harbor.

“What the hell are you doing here?” I snarl, charging forward.

Matthew’s gaze cuts to me, his expression mildly curious instead of guilt-ridden. “Good morning, brother. It’s a fine day we’re hav?—”

“Fuck you.” I stop in front of him, kicking his planted shoe to send his resting foot falling to the floor. “Get up.”

He eyes me with tired disinterest. “I suggest you take a seat and bite your tongue.”

Like fuck. “You think I won’t hit you while you’re seated?”

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