Page 92 of Stricken

"As far as I'm concerned, you're no longer a Morelli," Tony supplies in a tired, screeching voice.

With that, he turns around, ready to leave. His entourage follows suit. Salvatore too, scrambles to his feet as I wipe the spit away with a trembling hand.

"Nice job, Cinderella," my cousin whispers, leaning in. "I hope the view from the gutter is to your liking."

But I display no emotion. I won't give him the satisfaction.

"Let's go, Dad," he says, eager to follow in his father's wake.

Tony waves him off with a dismissive hand, as if swatting an annoying fly. "You're not coming," he commands. "You and I have nothing to discuss."

Salvatore's shoulders sink. Red colors his face. He's a torrent of impotent fury, about to beg to be taken back. I almost feel sorry for him. Almost.

As Tony strides toward the exit, his people falling in line behind him like obedient dogs, I remain seated, my posture straight and unyielding. The gravity of the situation hits me like a physical punch to the solar plexus.

I've burned my bridges. Severed my ties. Cut myself adrift from the only family I've ever known. And for what? A chance at being with someone I don't truly know?

But for whatever reason, I can't bring myself to regret it. Not when I think of Vlad. Of the way he makes me feel. The way he sees me, not as a puppet, but as a man. A partner.

He's the only one I can turn to now. The only one who understands. Who accepts me for who I am, flaws and all.

I close my eyes and picture his face. Those gray eyes that seem to strip me bare and lay my soul exposed. That unsmiling, serious mouth. Those words he said to me last night.

I'll take care of you now.

I take a deep breath and let it out slowly, feeling the tension drain from my muscles.

Nicola Morelli is no one's pawn anymore.

CHAPTER31

VLAD

Nerves on edge, I stand by the window, gazing out at the sparkling sea of city lights that stretch to the distant horizon and blur into the darkness of the night. The pristine starched collar of my white shirt presses against my neck as I shift my broad shoulders. I reach up and undo the two top buttons, needing some room to breathe.

I should be there. With him.

But showing up in front of Tony as Nico's sidekick would make me look weak. And I can't have anyone think that. Think that Vlad Solovey has a weakness. Not when the war is brewing on the horizon.

It would also make him seem weak too.

Behind me, the lock clicks softly and I sense a familiar presence enter the room before I hear his footsteps. His reflection flashes in the window in front of me. Like a mirage of an oasis in the withered desert.

His Ferragamo loafers pad softly across the carpeted floor as he strides over to me. His normally overconfident gait is riddled with tension and I feel the storm cloud of his anger swirl through the room before I even turn to face him.

"It was a fucking disaster," he growls, coming to stand close behind me, his breath hot on my ear. The fruity, grassy, winelike scent of him fills my nostrils. "That geriatricbastardocut me off completely because Salvatore told him about us before I could do anything."

I told you so.

But I don't say it out loud. I don't want to hurt him even more.

Instead, I keep my gaze fixed on the glowing landscape, the neon signs pulsing like a stuttering heartbeat. I had already anticipated this move from that conniving snake Salvatore. I knew involving Vartan into helping us to arrange the meeting was a crapshoot.

"And your cousin?" I ask.

"He's cut off too," he replies evenly. "One less rival to contend with… At least for now."

"I don't think he'll stop here," I tell him honestly.

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