Page 51 of Bastian

Her thirst to thrive despite her adversities and all the pain I caused.

“Fucker, are you there?” Sandoval’s voice is now graving on my last nerve.

“I’ll handle it,” I reply to him, while at the same time hitting send on the email. Sitting back on my chair, I look at the picture frame I have of both my girls. The most important people in my life. “You will stay out of it and let me handle the matter accordingly, or you’ll give me no choice but to paint your home’s walls with your blood, friend or not.” I threatened, meaning every word.

Sandoval laughs as if we both didn’t just threaten the other’s life. That’s who he is. The man gets off on chaos. “You don’t fuck with blood, Seba. Get the fuck out of here.” For her, I do. For her, I will. Every time. I proved it when I paid her scum of a father a little visit. “I sense there is more to this shit that you’re letting on, Seba.” Sandoval’s voice sounds curious.

“I suggest you mind your business.” I mumble tiredly.

“And I suggest you get some pussy and rid yourself of that stick up your ass.” The asshole continues talking out of his ass.

“Are you done?” I’m bored with this useless conversation.

Sandoval chuckles before saying, “I’m not fucking around. Handle them, or I will.” With that threat, he disconnects the call.

Fuck.

As much as I’m enjoying Arianna’s attempts to fuck with my life, I’ll have to do something soon before she has every made man in this city coming for her pretty ass. Thiago Sandoval might be a friend, but friend or not, I know his family and business come first, and Arianna exposing him is causing problems for him.

And now she’s a problem for him.

Fuck, I might have to kill a friend, and that’s a shame since I have so few of them.

But I would kill the pope, God, and whichever fucker poses a threat to her before they ever get their filthy hands on her.

Knock, knock.

“Come in,” I mutter, rubbing my temples. Every time I hold a conversation with Sandoval, the bastard gives me a raging headache that not even whiskey can cure.

When the door to my office is shut softly, I raise my gaze to find Shaw standing there with a gift basket in hand. “This was sent to your private residence, sir. It was cleared and it is of no threat to you.” I look at what I assume was a neatly packed basket, now a mess of plastic wrap and white decorative paper.

“Bring it over.” Although this gift might be nothing special, my pulse races anyway at the thought that perhaps it might be from her. From the woman who’s out for my blood. Doesn’t she realize that she’s in every part of me?

My heart and my goddamn blood.

“I must say, boss. You made one hell of a bad impression on this one. Still, this one isn’t the worst.” Through my years in the public eye, I’ve been stalked, harassed, and plenty of creepy shit has been sent to my residence.

From desperate love letters to dangerous threats.

I have seen it all, and nothing managed to surprise me until this one.

Smiling big, I reply. “You’re mistaken. This is just my woman’s definition of romance and foreplay.”

He snorts. “Trashing you and sending you funeral flowers is romantic to you? No disrespect, boss, but you’ve finally lost it. This woman clearly hates your as—” Looking up at him, I give him a look that has him rethinking his choice of words. He clears his throat, not looking at all sorry for what he was about to say.

Instead of giving him a hard time as I would normally do when Shaw gets too comfortable cussing around me, I reply as I watch him move forward. “Hate and love. Love and hate. It’s all the same to us. That’s how our story goes.” I focus on the basket placed on top of my desk by Shaw, and from what I can see, there are a dozen of black roses. With a giddiness I haven’t felt since she left, I tear open what remains of the basket and take out the items inside.

Newspapers and a magazine.

Hers.

Her work.

Her accomplishments.

Fuck, how I manage to feel both proud and elated instead of offended in this situation is beyond me, but I am.

Hate or love me, I’m still in there.

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