Page 9 of Contract of a Billionaire
The only words that registered as my mother’s body was lowered six feet under.
Branka’s tears trickled down her face in silence as her lower lip quivered and she desperately tried to stop it from doing so. She had learned a long time ago to cry in silence. She had learned the lessons no child should ever learn. At least she was spared seeing the things no child should ever see.
I took her hand in mine and squeezed it gently. I could afford to do this now. It has been a while since my old man could overpower me, and since I earned my own money, I’d secured a roof over Branka’s head, so she wouldn’t have to endure him. My only regret was that I didn’t do it earlier.
With a fifteen year difference between us, I should have been able to protect her from the moment she was born. But I wasn’t. She had to endure years of our father’s brutality. Years of my mother’s broken shell. Fucking years of being locked in her room when he decided to beat on our mother. She listened to their screaming matches and mother’s wailing, unable to save her.
I failed Branka just as our parents had. I failed Mia who ran off to join the U.S. military just to fucking get away. Maybe that was our family legacy - failing all those whom we loved.
It wasn’t until Branka was ten that I pulled her out of that fucked up shit. When I had something to hold over the old man’s head. The humiliation he didn’t want anyone to know about. That his son’s wealth superseded his own by tenfold.
He fucking hated anyone being better than him, especially his bastard son. My eyes darted to him to see him watching Byron. More like, killing him with a glare. My father hated me, but he didn’t want the world to know I wasn’t biologically his. And having one Ashford too close to me could reveal that. We looked too much alike.
What-the-fuck-ever. As far as I was concerned, neither one of them was my father. Byron could go fuck himself and find another soul to stalk. I didn’t need him here for me. Never did; never would.
My eyes searched the crowd for the daughter of the man who had succeeded in protecting his family. Autumn Michelle Corbin. It was then that I sawherand all thoughts of my half-brother Byron crumbled into dust. She was stunning. Her ivory skin. Her raven hair. Lush, plump lips. And those hazel eyes. She hid behind rows of people, leaning against a tree. I couldn’t see all of her, but I could see she wasn’t crying, nor pretending to be distressed. She was here just for Branka. Though I was surprised her parents let her come.
The cemetery was full of men and women who pretended to know my mother. The very same ones who pretended not to know who or what my father was. They simply didn’t care. My mother came from a line of Irish immigrant gangsters so in their minds, my mother deserved what she got.
A cruel and sadistic bastard.
Branka’s hand squeezed mine. She was twenty-two, but she still seemed small to me. My six-foot-five to her five-foot-five probably didn’t help matters. I let Branka mourn our mother, so she could get the peace she needed.
My eyes flickered to Byron Ashford. My half-brother. Fucking bastard. Always trying to mend what Senator Ashford destroyed. That fucker would never be my father, and I wasn’t interested in mending any kind of relationship with the Ashfords.
People whispered that the two of us looked alike. A lot like the old man. Except, I had my mother’s eyes. He had his father’s. Truthfully, I detested any similarities with the fucker who destroyed my mother. I wouldn’t lose any sleep if he died.
The parade of people commenced.
Throwing red roses, my mother’s favorite, onto her grave. Offering condolences. Moving on to go back to their petty little lives. They were like flies on shit, hungry for drama and fake with their sympathies.
Byron didn’t bring a red rose. Instead, he threw a white lilac. The damn bastard always had to be different. I wondered if white lilacs represented purity and innocence. Nothing with Byron was an accident.
He stopped in front of me and Branka. His gaze flicked up and caught Branka’s who watched him curiously.
“Alessio and Branka, my condolences,” Byron offered, his eyes returning to me.
My jaw tightened, words intended for him burning my throat. This wasn’t the place nor the time. I’d prefer not to see the bastard ever again.
“Thank you, Mister–” Branka didn’t know our complicated family history. I’d protected her from that clusterfuck. I failed to protect her from our father when she was little, but I was all grown now, and I’d use merciless methods to protect my family.
“Byron Ashford,” my half-brother answered, more than willing to prolong this dialogue.
I shoved my hand into my pants pocket. “Thank you for coming,” I dismissed him in a cold tone.
Branka’s gray eyes, so similar to mine, furrowed and darted to me, then to Byron and back to me.
Without another word, Byron tilted his head and disappeared. But the persistent bastard would be back. He always came back. Like a bad fucking case of herpes.
The crowds dwindled to fewer and fewer people. My eyes kept returning to the woman with hazel eyes that fascinated me.
For four years, I worked to forget the image of her. The innocence standing amidst pink, frilly bed sheets in front of ruthlessness. And she’d refused to cower. Her eyes met mine and a soft exhale parted her lips and a flush colored her cheeks.
She remembered me. It was in the flicker of those greenish hazel eyes. Chemistry and tension roped us in, the invisible strings wrapping around us, and I knew this time I’d have her.
The moments stretched into eternity and, as if she could see the resolution in my eyes, Autumn averted her gaze.
Something told me I had never stood a chance against this woman. Everything in the last four years led us here, to this very moment.
