Page 62 of A Game of Ruck
My heart takes off at a sprint and I’m across the room in seconds, wrenching the door open without thinking.
But it’s not her.
It’s him.
The same fucking asshole who’s been wrecking my life since the day I was born.
My father.Anthony Moretti.
“What the fuck do you want?”I growl.
He doesn’t flinch.
Of course not.
He’s too used to being feared, obeyed, and untouchable.
“Language, Luca.I’m still your father.”
I laugh.Cold and bitter.
“Is that what you think?Well, maybe I wasn’t clear enough when I walked out of your life and didn’t look back for ten fucking years.I want nothing to do with you.”
A shadow moves behind him, and there he is.
Marco Martinez.
Annabeth’s father.
I meet his gaze.Strong.Stern.Assessing.
He has no idea what he’s walked into, but I’m done holding back.
“Mr.Martinez,” I say, my voice steady even though my chest is tight.“I’m sorry to meet you under these circumstances, but there are two things you need to know.”
He crosses his arms.“And what’s that?”
“First,” I say, taking a breath and meaning every fucking word, “I’m in love with your daughter.She ran because she’s scared.She doesn’t know I’m serious about her yet, but I am.And I’m not letting her go.”
His brow lifts slightly, but he doesn’t interrupt.
“And second—” My voice drops.My eyes go back toAnthony.“Whatever business you’ve got brewing with this man?You need to get the fuck out of it.He can only bring you ruination and misery.It practically oozes off him.”
“Hey—watch your mouth,” the slimy bastard next to him says.
It’s Peter fucking Galetti—same prick who dragged me and my mother back to him when I was ten years old and we tried to get away—and he’s stepping toward me with his chest puffed up like that means something.
I don’t even hesitate.
My fist flies before I know I’ve moved, catching him clean across the jaw.
He stumbles backward into the wall, groaning.
I point straight into Anthony’s smug fucking face.
“Come at me.Right now.Do it, old man.Just like you used to.Let’s see if you still hit like you did when I was thirteen.”
He doesn’t move.
