Page 101 of Ruthless Redemption

“What else?” Matthew pushes from the counter to pace in front of me. “Tell me every-fucking-thing he’s done.”

“You name it, he’s done it. We’ve been threatened and manipulated. We’ve been part of a multimillion-dollar fashion label for years without seeing a penny of income.”

“How?” I drag my gaze down his tailored suit, all the way to what look to be polished Dior shoes, then back up to his designer watch and styled haircut.

“You think this means something?” He indicates his appearance with a wave of a hand. “Everything we earn goes into a trust that’s guarded by legal loopholes we don’t have the money to defend. We survive through the accounts Emmanuel has opened at a long list of businesses. We can spend whatever we want as long as it’s within the parameters of his control. He knows what we’re buying and when we’re buying it. There’s no freedom. We can’t do anything without his knowledge.”

“That Cartier watch would cost more than my housekeeper’s yearly salary.” Bishop drawls. “Ever heard of a pawn shop?”

“Ever contemplated that Emmanuel has spies everywhere?” Salvatore sneers.

“You know what? I’m getting really sick and fucking tired of your attitude.” Remy straightens to his full height. “Do you think we want to ask for help? Do you think we’d be here if we weren’t scraping the bottom of the—”

“Did all your friends turn you away, pretty boy?” Bishop matches his posture, taking a threatening step forward. “You can’t even crash on someone’s sofa while you pull your shitty life together? Or better yet, go public with your father’s manipulation and let cancel culture take the wheel? Social media will dismantle his empire quicker than any of us can.”

They stand toe to toe. All madness and malice.

“There are no friends,” Salvatore mutters. “The only people who have permanent access to our lives are those that Emmanuel allows. And going public isn’t an option either because every illegal action we’ve been forced into has been documented. He’s kept the fucking receipts. So when we say he’s gained control over everything, we mean it. Heknowseverything. Influenceseverything.”

“If that’s the case, then he knows you’re here.” Matthew plants his feet. “And you’ve placed Layla in more danger.”

“No.” Remy shakes his head. “We were strategic. We fed him information to stay off our tail. We told him we bribed an airport official for details on your flight out of Denver. We said you landed in Charleston, and that’s where we flew into, then hired a car so we weren’t pinned in your actual vicinity. But it’s only a matter of time. If we don’t give him results soon, he’ll send more men.”

“I’m not fucking convinced.” Bishop throws the ice into the sink and stalks for the floor-to-ceiling windows. “All this smells like bullshit to me.”

The room falls silent.

I don’t know what to say. Or think. Yet there’s a part of me that leans toward belief. I hear truth in their words. I see it in their pained expressions.

I hate it, but it’s there.

Matthew rubs a rough hand down his face.

Bishop stares at the ocean.

Remy braces his hands against the island counter and hangs his head.

Salvatore sighs.

None of us want this. And all of us know something needs to change.

“Tell me about your role in my daughter’s abduction.” I swallow over the weakness in my voice. “Was it planned? Did you know our children were going to be taken?”

“We didn’t know a damn thing until after Emmanuel had us board a jet to Sacramento and those kids were on our doorstep.” Remy looks up at me through hooded lashes, his dark eyes intense.

“Until after your brother was in that penthouse,” Salvatore corrects. “Even after the kids arrived, I thought we were just looking after them until Torian came to pick them up. But Emmanuel blindsided us again with the blackmail.”

“And the guy your brother killed…” Remy cringes. “It was the first fucking time we’d had to dispose of a dead body.”

“It was the first time I’dseena dead body,” Salvatore mutters.

Matthew walks to my side, gently maneuvering me away from the counter to stand behind me, hands on my hips. “Was it your last?”

“No.” Remy shakes his head. “Dear ol’ Dad has put his dirty fingers into some pretty fucked-up pies of late—extortion, guns, drugs. We’ve had to learn how to cover our tracks better so he couldn’t get as much ammunition against us as he did that day. We made so many fucking mistakes back then. He has security footage of us handling the body and buying the chemicals to clean the crime scene.”

“Because every penny you use is through his accounts.” Matthew lets out the faintest huff of a laugh. “He’s smarter than I gave him credit for.”

“But those smarts only work to his advantage while he’s breathing,” I murmur. “So why is he still alive?”

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