Page 27 of Creed

“I’ll check in with her every few days,” I promise.

“Keep your nose clean and your head in those books.Te amo, Sophie.”

“Yo también te amo. I love you, too, Antonio.”

I hang up and pocket my phone, surveying the campus around me.

I miss my family, but I have a great opportunity here—one to carve my path to the future, where I can get a job that pays well and help support my family. It doesn’t have to be a career that fills my cup or makes my soul content—that is secondary. My family comes first, always.

And that means no distractions. It means books and studying, no parties or living it up.

No insanely gorgeous, hot, tatted, muscular, tall man who can make me come—first one ever—and make me come so hard it nearly causes me to blackout.

No, Idefinitelydid not needthatdistraction.

Not only because I'm here on a scholarship and need to keep my grades up but also because I’m here with a purpose and a goal. Get an education for a good, stable job to help my family, and to hopefully do some good in the world, unlike my father.

My mom, grandparents, and even Antonio have warned me it wasn’t just the cartels I needed to avoid. There are other crime organizations or factions, like the Italian mafia, the Russian mafia called the Bratva, and criminal motorcycle clubs.

I don’t know which criminal faction, if any, controls San Diego. I’m an ostrich burying my head in the sand—don’t ask, don’t tell—because I have no intention of getting wrapped up in that world. I’ll keep to my innocent path, head down and studying, no partying or drugs, and do what I’ve come here to do.

I am Sophie Demeanus. No one knows my father is Geraldo Ortez, a sicario for the Garcia Cartel.

I keep my social circle small—my main friends are only Ollie and Zac. There is zero chance of me getting drawn into the criminal world.

I’m here to get my education, a respected business degree. I’m here to make my path to a good life for my family.

I have goals and a plan, with no room for distractions.

Period.

Chapter 8

Creed

Scowling, I stalk frommy family’s private plane onto the tarmac in San Francisco.

Thelastplace I want to be.

I’m supposed to be in San Diego, implementing my plans to reacquaint myself with my angel.

Instead, my eldest brother, Massimo, called me home for vague reasons. I came fearing that our father’s health had taken a severe and sudden nosedive.

Our father has bronchiectasis—where the airways have widened, causing excess mucus build-up and making the person more prone to infections. Most people with the disease live a normal life expectancy; however, for some reason,Papàisn’t responding to treatment. He has another lung infection and looked like hell a few days ago, so my worry isn’t unfounded.

Massimo’s armored, black Rolls Royce waits for us on the tarmac. Andro climbs into the passenger seat beside Gabriele, who is driving. I climb into the back, and Massimo fills a good portion of the back seat with his broad frame. With my width as well, our shoulders almost touch.

Mass looks how he always does—like the Don he’s been groomed to be—powerful and dangerous in an exquisitely tailored three-piece suit. Today’s is a green so dark it’s almost black, with a white button-down, dark tie, and Berluti Oxfords. His hair is as polished as the rest of him, with the sides cut shorter and the slight waves on top styled back. His dark brown eyes silently assess me and my scowl.

“Gabe, my man, good to see you,” Andro says in a chirpy voice as he drops his fist on top of Gabriele’s. Andro is hungover as fuck, but his motto is always ‘fake it until you make it.’ He twists in the seat, grinning at Massimo. “Looking good,cugino.” Cousin. His blue eyes flick to me. “My other cousin is in quite the pissy-pants mood, in case you couldn’t tell.”

“Dick,” I mutter, leveling my scowl at Andro, which makes the bastard laugh and turn in his seat to chat with Gabriele as he drives us from the airport.

Gabriele is Massimo’s head bodyguard. His inky black hair is pushed back, and the scar from his ear down his neck is visible, as are the scars on his hands as he grips the wheel. He’s the only person Massimo trusts to protect his back as much as he trusts Vito. And as Massimo’s best friend, Gabriele is also considered family.

Massimo continues assessing me. “Why the bitchiness about coming home early?”

Bitchy doesn’t even come close to what I’m feeling.

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