Page 116 of Vicious Heir

“I don’t know. I’m starting to like the mansion.”

“You don’t want your own space? A little crash pad for when you need a little quiet?”

“Adriano, we live in a mansion. There’s no shortage of space and quiet. Besides—” She tilts her head toward me. “I like it when you’re around.”

“I like when you’re around too,” I say quietly.

“Good. I was thinking you were trying to get rid of me.”

“Never. Not in a million years.”

Wind blows through her hair. It lifts the edge of her dress. She laughs and kisses me lightly, and I hug her closer and tighter as we come around the bend and spot a man sitting alone on a bench up ahead.

“Want me to come with you?” she asks lightly.

“No, I think it’s better if I speak with him alone. Luca’s nearby. Why don’t you go find him and get some coffees?”

“You sure you don’t need me?”

“I always need you, baby, but we’ll have the rest of the day together.” I kiss her hair and pat her ass lightly. A few younger college-aged men are staring with hungry, jealous eyes. Let them look, but not too closely, or else I just might have to rip out their tongues.

“See you later then.” She stalks off, the most beautiful girl in the city. I watch her go, amazed at my own capacity for love.

I didn’t know I could feel this way.

I’ve spent my whole life caring about my family. I respected and idolized my father. I love my sister, but in a different way. Bianca can be a pain in the ass when she wants to be, which is most of the time. But my love for Lucy is overwhelming, consuming, obsessive. I still can barely go ten minutes without wonderingwhat she’s doing. It sends shivers down my spine. God, I can’t help how much I want her.

“Nice day,” I comment to the lonely man.

He looks up at me. He’s got olive-toned dark skin and bags under his brown eyes. His hair’s thinning, but his clothes are sleek and expensive. He looks strangely out of place.

“Nice for you, maybe.” His English is accented, but still good. “You kept me waiting.”

“Sorry about that.” I sit at the other end of the bench. “My wife wanted gelato. I find it hard to say no to her.”

He stares at me, frowning deeply. “That’s the girl my brother killed himself for?”

“Lucille. A woman worth a thousand deaths.”

“Or perhaps millions and millions of dollars in destroyed art.”

“Oh, come on, Hakan. There’s nothing personal.”

Hakan Yilmaz scowls. His fingers clench, and his jaw works. But he takes a breath to calm himself before looking back at me.

“Where is Demir?”

I slip my phone from my pocket. A nice young family walks past, the father pushing a stroller.

“I love my wife. I love her more than anything. You need to understand that.”

“Yes, yes, I’ve heard how far you’re willing to go for the girl.”

“No, you haven’t.” I turn the phone toward him. “But now you do.”

Hakan’s face spasms in shock and outrage. The screen shows a photo I took of Demir this morning. He’s sprawled out on a medical table, half his skin ripped from his body, the other half burned with a thousand little brands, each one a symphony of agony.

“What is this?” Hakan whispers.

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