Page 31 of Unforgiving Queen
My eyes darted out the window, watching Parisians rush through the streets, eager to get to their destinations and escape the cold. Even that looked romantic in this city. Except the whole romance angle had kind of lost its charm.
“No. It was raining. One moment I was crossing the street, the next—headlights.” Grandma’s words echoed in my brain. “Did you learn something?”
“What did Grandma tell you?”
I shrugged. “Enough to make me wonder, not enough to know any specifics.”
Let him unpack that.
“I believe some old associates of mine were trying to send a message to me.” A shudder rolled down my spine, ominous thoughts piercing my skull. “I tried finding the driver but he’d died under mysterious circumstances. His body washed up days after you were admitted.”
“Is it dangerous for Phoenix and our friends to remain here?” I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if anything happened to them on my or Papà’s account.
“I don’t think so, but I’m going to put some extra security in place.” My brows shot up. He knew very well none of us appreciated bodyguards. “No, not bodyguards. But I’ll have some friends from”—he searched for the right word—“myorganizationensure that none of the men from that organization have a presence in town.”
From the Omertà? The question burned on my tongue, but I knew he’d shut down the moment I uttered the word.
“What organization did you piss off?” I asked calmly.
“Brazilian cartel. And the Yakuza.”
“Wow,” I muttered, surprised that he answered me, and stared at him in shock. “What did you do to piss them off so badly?”
He waved his hand. “Lost their shipment and then tried to arrange a marriage.”
Alert shot through me and I gulped with fear. My grandmother’s words were repeating themselves over and over again.
“Arrange a marriage,” I repeated, my mouth suddenly dry.
“That’s off the table,” he declared. “With them, anyhow.”
I didn’t know whether laughing or crying would be more appropriate here. He discussed the arrangement like the weather. Like it was nothing, just another daily occurrence.
“So you’re still considering it?” I croaked.
His eyes bore into mine. “I have to. For both your and Phoenix’s safety.”
A frustrated breath left me. “Has it ever occurred to you that maybe we would be safe if you weren’t part of that world?”
The atmosphere quickly turned ominous, the silence suffocating and feeding my rebellious spirit.
I watched him take a sip of his cappuccino, the little cup looking ridiculous in his large hands. Then a thought occurred to me. He’d killed people with those hands, or he’d at least made someone else do it for him. When I was a little girl, I thought he was just an enigma, not understanding enough that he wasn’t like other fathers, but now, it was hard to remain ignorant of his profession.
My mind darted back to the party at that dark but magical castle that seemed to have started our doom.
“Papà?” My voice was tentative—cautious—but it was time I started demanding answers. “That summer we spent in Italy with Mamma—” Surprise flickered across his expression. We never talked about the past. “What happened?”
For a long moment, he remained quiet, and just when I was starting to think he would refuse to answer, his voice penetrated the small space between us.
“A lot of things happened that summer, Reina,” he answered tiredly. “What exactly are you referring to?”
My fingers curled into fists, but I straightened my spine. I was sick and tired of ghosts lurking in the corners of my mind.
“I never saw you and Mamma argue until then.” I pushed a short curl off my forehead. Papà followed the motion, resignation in his eyes. He hadn’t commented on my new hairdo—not that I expected him to—but it was probably the latest reminder of all the shit that had gone wrong lately. “Then all you did was fight. Did she hate it in Italy that much?”
“She did hate it there.” His throat bobbed, although his expression remained unmoved. “If I could go back, I would have kept you all in California.”
“Why?” His eyes darted to the window, but I pressed on. “Is it because you learned one of us isn’t yours?”
