Page 5 of Bad Blood
“Please, Reece.” I clasp my hands together. “It’s too early in the morning to be dealing with parental disapproval.”
“You spit in the devil’s face when you keep a man like him waiting.”
But he pockets the cell with a grimace. I can tell it’s physically hurting him to do it, though.
“Thank you,” I whisper in relief, wishing for the hundredth time that my father was more like him. There’s a layer of sympathy behind those cool, gray eyes—the likes of which never blessed Dante Santiago’s DNA. “Besides,” I add, with a hopeful grin, “ten extra minutes isn’t going to hurt.”
“Wanna bet?”
I watch his eyebrows knit together as he takes in my extra short, overly expensive, silver designer cocktail dress, with the deep ‘v’ lace decolletage that kisses my belly button. Reece has been working for my family for longer than I’ve been screwing shit up on this planet, so I know what he’s thinking. This outfit is anathema to all the ripped skinnies and leopard print Chucks I usually wear. The thing is, I’m on the edge of a life precipice and it’s throwing all my norms into chaos. If that means resorting to every cheap trick in the book, so be it.
“You need to be smarter than this,” he warns, leaning over to shove the apartment door open for me. “He knows you slipped your bodyguards again last night. Even before I made the call.”
“Of course, he does,” I say flatly. “He knows everything.”Except why I’m acting out so much.“Listen, I’ll deal with him later. I swear.”
His grunt of disbelief speaks more truth than I ever will. I haven’t spoken to my father in over a month. Our last words were poisoned with blame and anger, and I can’t bring myself to taste the antidote of forgiveness, yet.
I shift my weight from foot to foot to offset my blister pain. “Did he give you a hard time about it?”
He chuckles darkly. “Santiago’s threats lose their jagged edge when they’re delivered from a thousand miles away.” His grin fades. The rifts in his face deepen. “I can’t keep you safe if you keep flying south on me, sweetheart. If you’re in some kind of trouble—”
“I’m not,” I say quickly.
“Where did you go last night?”
“Some bar.”
Another lie.
“You know the dangers—”
“I didn’t cross the Brooklyn Bridge, Reece. I didn’t go anywhere near New Jersey, if that’s what you’re implying.”
“Then where—”
“I went hunting... Oh God, not forthat,” I groan, seeing dark things flash across his face. “Nothing occurred that was A—love related, or B—sex related.”
“Now you’re talking stupid.”
No, solutions, Reece.
Bad solutions to bad problems.
Like the forty-thousand dollars that’s burning a hole in the bottom of my Gucci silk purse.
“Have you been drinking?” he says suspiciously.
“Nope. Gotta go. Have a phone call to make.”
I slam the door and rest my forehead against cool wood, my panic rising up inside me like a flock of birds. I have a secret: a dark and dangerous thing that’s slowly ripping me apart. But I have a plan to make it go away, too. It’s cradled tight to my chest, and I can feel it fluttering wildly as I wait for the birds to disperse.
I find my sister sitting hunched over and cross-legged on the living room couch, her fingers weaving last minute college assignments out of a flurry of furious laptop clicks, a frown of concentration crumpling up her beautiful face.
She hasn’t heard me enter, so I’m gifted a rare moment to watch her unnoticed. She’s a carbon copy of our mom—with the same shiny dark waterfall of hair grazing her shoulders, the same thoughtful gaze, the same quietly ambitious nature… The minute we found out mom used to be an award-winning reporter, there was never any other future for Ella. Getting accepted into NYU and then majoring in Journalism were the two best days of her life. Not even the heavy crown that comes with being cartel royalty was going to crush them for her.
Not even a bad secret is going to derail them.
My sister chooses her family battles carefully.
