Page 131 of Seeking Vengeance

“Go,” I grate through clenched teeth. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Fuck you.” She straightens to her full height, her chin regally high, her shoulders broad. “You’ll pay for this.” She backtracks toward the bedroom. “You’ll wish we’d never met.”

I’ve already had many of those moments. Too many times to count where I regretted getting involved—for her sake, not mine.

“Go.” I stare her down.

She sucks in a strangled breath, belying her strength, and it fucking kills me.

If only we’d cleared the air sooner.

She retreats into the bedroom, slamming the door in her wake, the deafening vibration crashing through the entire penthouse as I stand staring into the darkened hall.

“That’s a pretty impressive mess you’ve made for yourself, brother. I guess the grass ain’t greener after all.”

I curl my lip, determined not to be distracted by violence. “Why are you really here? Why contact me after so long?”

“Because of her. Because ofthem. I came when I heard you were shot at because I thought you deserved to know her fucking family have been shooting at us, too. But evidently, I got it wrong if that bitch was with you yesterday.”

It’s hard to decipher what he says. Hard to hear anything other than him cutting her down.

“You’ve betrayed the family by sleeping with that whore, Dante. Uncle Lorenzo is going to be pissed when he finds out.”

“He already knows.” I stalk toward him, menacing and ready to slaughter, jabbing a finger at his chest. “And if you call her that again, or refer to me by that name, I’ll make you see stars. You hear me?”

He glowers, his lips pressed tight.

“Do you fucking hear me?” I repeat.

“Yeah, I fucking hear you.” He slaps my hand away. “But does he know you kept quiet, not telling us they were going to declare war after two years of radio silence?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“No?” He raises a defiant brow. “I call bullshit.”

“You can call whatever the fuck you want. But up until a few seconds ago, I had no clue about your connection to her. Let alone the depth of how low you could stoop by abducting a fucking child.”

“Wasn’t my decision, asshole. The point is—they shot Dad.”

I don’t respond.

There’s nothing more than a flinch at the memory of a man I despise.

“How can you have no loyalty?” He starts to pace, his face stark apart from the hatred in his eyes. “You’re sleeping with the enemy.”

“She’s no enemy of mine.” I grind my teeth, refusing to take the bait, refusing to care one iota about Emmanuel’s health just because my youngest brother demands it of me. “And I’m surprised you think your actions don’t justify their response.”

For the love of God. Abduction? They involved a child?

And to think Layla would’ve suffered every time I asked about her connection to the Costas. Each and every moment I attempted to find out if she was in a relationship with Remy or Salvatore.

Not once did she expose her past.

That beautiful, fucking unfathomably strong woman faked her way through continuous bluffs.

But he’s right. Lorenzo will be pissed if Emmanuel was shot and her family were to blame. I’ll need to prove I wasn’t involved, and do whatever possible to make it seem like she wasn’t either.

“That was two goddamn years in the past,” he argues. “The situation was dead and buried. Yet, they shot Dad three weeks ago.”

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