Page 90 of Ruthless Lord
“You two need to rethink your definition offun. This is just exhausting. When do I get to break something?”
“Soon,” I promise. “Davide, how close now?”
“Very close. I’m guessing a mile now.”
I sigh, staring out the window. I know these houses. I know this street, the trees, the fire hydrants. Everything about it feels so familiar.
“What’s wrong?” Stefano puts a big hand on my thigh. “Just talk.”
“When I was twelve, I rode a skateboard down that hill.” I point to a road as we roll past it. The slope is dangerously steep. “I remember barreling down, totally out of control, thinking I’m about to get hit by a car. Lucky for me, I bombed through traffic and crashed into the grass over there—” I wave a hand to our left. “And nobody touched me.”
“Lucky,” Stefano mutters. “Stupid kid shit. But I thought you grew up in the city?”
“I grew up all over the place. My family has houses everywhere. We have a condo in DC, apartments in LA and New York, vacation homes in Maine and New Jersey.”
“And houses in the Philly suburbs.”
“My dad never liked the city. He always says it’s too crowded and dirty. Too many homeless people on the streets. He talks about them like they’re rats or something. He preferred it out here. Called it more civilized.” The truck rolls along a shady, winding road toward a dead end. “They shuttled me around a lot. I was with my grandfather half the time. He was constantly introducing me to new tutors, teaching me new lessons. Butevery once in a while, I’d go stay with my dad out in his private house. Not that often, but maybe a few weekends every summer.”
We reach the end of the street. An enormous black fence cuts across a long driveway. Tall, mature shrubs block our view, perfectly manicured. Several trees loom above them.
And past the foliage, lost at the other end of that driveway, is my father’s personal mansion.
Stefano parks the car.
“You’re there,” Davide says, sounding surprised. “Within feet now. The signal’s really strong.”
I turn off the transmitter and sit in silence, staring at that gate. There are too many memories for me here. Most of them aren’t all that bad. My dad wasn’t a bastard my whole life. He was even kind of decent when I was a kid. We’d go sledding and ride our bikes together all the time. It wasn’t until Grandfather named me the heir that our relationship fell apart and Dad showed me the kind of man he really is.
But back when I was younger, I had no clue. He was just my dad to me back then.
“Thanks, Davide,” I say and hit the call end button, cutting him off.
Stefano watches me carefully. He knows something’s going on but hasn’t pressed for details yet. I wrap my arms around myself, feeling small, hating myself for being surprised. Because obviously, this is how it had to be.
“My dad lives in this house most of the time.” I watch the gate for any sign of life. I still remember the code to open it. I doubt it’s been changed.
Stefano’s grip on the wheel tightens. “He’s the one who was breaking into the depot.”
“Not him personally, I’m sure. He probably hired some very good, very expensive people to do it.”
“He tried to kill you.”
I tilt my head side to side. “Maybe. I don’t know. The guy I caught could’ve just been surprised and panicked. He looked like he was searching the office and wasn’t there to kill anyone. I just stumbled in on him.”
“You’re defending your father now? That fucking prick?”
“I’m trying to be rational.” Because inwardly I’m a storm of emotions. I always knew my dad hated me, but I don’t want to think my own father would have me murdered. He’s a bastard, but is he really the kind of bastard who will have his own daughter strangled?
“I’m going to park down the block. I’ll break in, confront him?—”
I put a hand on his arm. “No. We can’t do that.”
“Why the fuck not? Show me where to scale the fence, tell me the layout, and I’ll do the rest.”
“If we go in, it’ll tip our hand. They’ll know we know. Right now, we have surprise on our side.”
“What the fuck do you care about surprise?”
