Page 52 of Deceitful Oath

I didn’t expect to fall so head over heels in love with her, that’s for sure.

Maybe she murdered my father, but my gut instinct tells me she didn’t. Getting to know her, experiencing how she lives in the world, showed me that she’s innocent. Which leads me to another train of thought—who killed my father?

I think back to the day he died. We met for breakfast at his house, discussed business, and planned out some of our more legal mergers and trades.

He seemed fine—in a great mood, actually. Then he met his closest associates for lunch at Rocky’s, drank his coffee, and died.

Running through a quick list of every man present that day, I can’t bring myself to point a finger at any of them. Most of them had grown up with him and dedicated their life to him when he rose to power. Except for Vince, of course, he joined the family a few years ago.

Vince.I picture his solemn face, the cold eyes, his eerie calmness. He couldn’t have had anything to do with it. My father quickly chose him as his right-hand man. Wherever Dominic went, Vince went.

He trusted him with his life.

I gulp the bourbon down, feeling it burn a fiery path down my throat and coat my insides. Intending to pour myself another, I get up, but I just grab the entire bottle instead. I drink straight from it, not caring if I get wasted anymore.

The penthouse feels cold without Lux. I stare out the windows, the city sparkling below me, and wonder where she is.

An idea creeps into my head and I hop off the stool, tucking the bottle under my arm. I wander down to my small home office, veering past the desk, and stop at the second door.

The alarm beeps as I glide my hand over it and I punch in the numbers. It slides open and I slip inside, settling into a leather armchair. A wall of screens welcomes me. I quickly scroll through the options on the tablet, finding Lux’s apartment.

My heart beats faster, hoping for a glimpse of her face.Just a quick peek, and I’ll go to sleep, that’s all I need.I sound like an addict, but I don’t care. The desire to see her consumes my entire being.

The secret security cameras focus, and I lean forward, scanning the different screens. Her apartment is pitch-black and empty. The water seems to have been drained but it’s completely destroyed otherwise. Of course, she wouldn’t go back there.

I shake my head, scolding myself for my obsession with this woman, and take a hefty swig of bourbon.

Feeling stupid and pathetic, I hoist myself out of the chair and collapse back into bed. The alcohol did manage to make my eyelids heavier, so I close them and pray for sleep.

***

“I didn’t do it, Rafael,” she cries, tears streaming down her face. She’s on her knees, her wrists and ankles bound. Blood streaks her golden hair, dripping down her bare shoulders.

She’s naked. Why is she naked and bleeding? I walk toward her, but a shadowy figure steps forward, blocking my path.

“I didn’t kill him,” she wails, “I didn’t even know him.”

I try to scream her name but nothing comes out. The dark figure is moving toward her now, a gun swinging in his hand.

“Please,” she begs, screwing her eyes shut. “Please, no.”

The figure puts the gun against her forehead, stroking her hair gently. The trigger cocks.

“NO,” I howl.

I bolt upright. Sweat trickles down my forehead, stinging my eyes. Panting and gasping for breath, I grapple with the twisted bedsheets, trying to break free.

Weak sunlight filters in through my half-drawn blinds and I hang my head in my hands, rubbing my eyes.That was one fucked up dream.

I take a deep breath and untangle myself from my bed. Last night’s bourbon swirls on my breath and I heave myself into the shower.

After I’ve cleaned up, I feel more alert and more in control of myself. I throw on my gym clothes and head to the roof. Hopping on the treadmill, the dream hits me like an acid flashback.

I see her face in agony, the gun to her head. I grab my phone, almost crushing it with the force of my grip, and tap Enzo’s name.

“You’re up earlier than usual,” he grumbles, stifling a yawn.

“Luckily, I pay you to work twenty-four hours a day,” I retort. He chuckles but doesn’t fight back. I can hear shuffling and drawers opening in the background.

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