Page 77 of Remy

What the fuck are you doing?

I withdraw from the lenience—the stupidity—and reclaim the steering wheel. “Just pretend to be okay with the situation. He needs to trust you.”

“Even though you don’t?”

I’m not sure that’s the case anymore. But exposing the truth is yet another mistake. “Yeah,” I mutter. “Even though I don’t.”

I pull into the underground parking lot of my uncle’s apartment building and take the reserved space between Salvatore’s matte black Maserati GranTurismo and Lorenzo’s silver Rolls-Royce Wraith.

I cut the ignition and turn to her. “My uncle values respect and self-control. Take your time before answering his questions. Don’t get emotional. Show him you’re not the type to buckle under pressure.”

She swallows. Nods.

“You’ll be okay.” Fingers crossed. If history dictates, all it will take is one threat from Lorenzo and she’ll bite back with a retort likely to get her throat slashed. Or worse, she’ll attempt to knock him out with a blunt object and try to stuff him in the kitchen oven. “Let me do the talking.”

She stares at me, those slaying eyes seeming to read me. “Are you really helping me? Or is this a trap?”

I’m definitely doing the former. But only time will tell if I’m unwittingly leading her into the latter.

“I’m doing everything I possibly can to get things back to the way they were.” I lower my attention to the cell in her lap. “Have you messaged your dad yet?”

“Yes.” She shucks the heavy coat, her expression somber. “I lied and told him everything is under control. If I’m being led to slaughter I don’t want him to feel responsible.”

“Good decision.” I climb from the car, eat up the short path to the penthouse elevator, and wait for her to join me. “Whatever you feel in there, keep it locked tight. Whether it’s fear or anger, push it to the back of your mind. You can take it out on me later.”

“You might regret that when I’m wielding a baseball bat and swinging it toward that aesthetically faultless face of yours.”

I slap my hand against the call button, holding in a grin. “I’ve talked you down from worse.”

“Placing me in volatile situations isn’t something to brag about.”

I watch her in the reflection of the elevator doors as they open. Ignore the need to touch her again. “Be strong, Ollie. The weak don’t survive here.”

Her throat works over a heavy swallow, but she squares her shoulders and drags in a deep breath to follow me inside.

I enter the PIN code on the security panel, then press the lone button for the penthouse.

The ascent is quiet, the enclosed space suffocated with her turmoil.

“As soon as those doors open, we’ll have eyes on us.” I lean against the back wall, relieved when she stands taller, her chin high, but those delicate hands continue to fidget. “Your life is nothing more than a business decision for Lorenzo. Keep it simple. Don’t create more complications.”

She peers back at me with hopelessness. “My life is nothing more than a business decision?”

“Nobody’s life is.”

Her brow furrows. “Even yours?”

I shrug.

Did he take me in after my parents tried to have me killed? Yes.

Did he give me a home, money, a future? All of the above.

But will those luxuries disappear if I rub him the wrong way? Chances are.

If my own father can attempt to take my life, I don’t hold much hope that a once-estranged uncle won’t one day try to do the same.

“Great.” Ollie pivots to the doors, turning away from me. “If you’re not safe, what hope do I have?”

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