Page 32 of Vengeful Mafia Prince

Though, truth be told, I'm not sure I mean that. As much as I want to pretend like I can get over him, there's a part of me that is still drawn to him, a part of me that I know is far from looking out for my best interests. But that doesn't mean I can just ignoreit. I want him. I've never been with someone who makes me feel the way he does, and I know I'll never get that again.

Maybe because I shouldn't even have it in the first place. Perhaps something that intense, that burns that brightly, isn't meant to last for long. Maybe it's just meant to sear through your life like a comet and leave destruction in its wake.

I massage my temples, and I'm about to give in and go get myself a coffee when my phone buzzes. I answer it at once. I'm hoping to hear Giovanni's voice on the end of the line, but instead, the man's voice that speaks to me sends a shiver down my spine.

"Elena."

"Dad?" I whisper. Is it a good sign that he's calling me? I want to slam the phone down, tell him that I can't stand to speak to him right now, that I need my distance any way I can get it—but that's not how it works with him. If I decline this call, then he's going to turn up at my dorm and make sure I pay for my nerve in person.

"I need to speak to you."

"We're speaking now," I counter.

A short sigh comes down the line. "I need to speak to you in person, Elena. Now. I've sent a couple of drivers down to your dorm. Get in the car, and come to my house."

"Why can't we just have this conversation over the phone?" I shoot back. "I... I have classes to take care of. And notes to copy. I really don't have the time to come all the way out there, not in the middle of—"

"Elena, I'm not asking."

The tone to his voice makes my blood run cold. No matter how much I might want to fight against him, against this, he's made himself clear. I close my notebook and reach for my jacket.

"Okay, Dad. I'll be right there."

"See that you are."

The line goes dead. I drop my phone back into my pocket, my hand trembling wildly. What does he want from me? Why has he waited so long to get in touch with me? What plans does he have for me now that he's finally ready to talk?

I head out of my dorm, and sure enough, there are two men in dark suits standing outside waiting for me. One of them steps forward, hands clasped in front of him.

"Elena?"

I nod.

"This way."

He gestures for me to follow them, and I go along with them. It's not as though I have a single inch of bargaining power. I follow them to the car and am guided into the backseat with a firm hand. It's clear my father told them that I might try to resist and they've been told not to let me get away with it.

"I can handle myself," I protest, but the door slams shut, and I'm left sitting there in utter silence.

I draw in a deep, shaky breath, my mind racing. I don't know what my dad is going to want from me, but I can't help but feel as though it's going to be bad news. And I'm walking in there, with no way to know if I'm getting out. Am I walking to my death?

It's a sickening thought, but it's not impossible. I eye the two men in the front seat before me. Would they try to stop my father if he did something to me? It's doubtful. I can't imagine that they'd give a damn one way or another as long as they kept their jobs.

The car cuts through the busy streets, leading me closer and closer to my fate. Whatever it might be.

I still have my phone. I grip it tight in my pocket, wondering if there's anyone I can contact.

Well, there is one person. And he told me that if I ever needed him, he would be there for me. Though I'm not sure he could ever have imagined something like this going down.

Gio. I have to try. Even if it's just to let him know where I am and what has happened to me, if things take a turn for the worse. There's no way to tell how this is going to go, and I don't want to walk into this without any kind of protection.

Easing my phone from my pocket, I shoot a look at the driver and his companion again, making sure they're not paying attention to me. Their eyes are still fixed on the road, thank God. Peering back down at my screen, I type out a message as quickly as I can, telling Giovanni where I am, the address to my father's place, and...

I hover over what else to put in the message. If this is the last time I'm going to be speaking to him, then what do I want to say? So much is rushing around my head right now, so much I can hardly parse it. I send the message quickly and slip my phone back into my pocket, hoping they haven't noticed anything. What matters is sending the message, not the contents of it.

Finally, after what feels like a lifetime of driving, we pull up outside my father's house. It used to be my house, and it strikes me that this is the first time I've thought of it as anything other than that. But here, now, it doesn't feel like the place I grew up in. No, it feels a million miles removed from that. The happy memories I once had here are so distant.

The driver pulls open my door and orders me to get out. I hesitate, and he reaches in to grab my arm.

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