Page 6 of Brutal Devil
I’m gripping the arms of the chair so hard, it’s a miracle they don’t break off. “You don’t control me. I came back here because you threatened to shoot my father if I didn’t, while I watched.”
I’m pushing it, and I know it. Pushinghim. I can see the outline of his Glock under that expensive suit jacket that perfectly delineates his shoulders. But I don’t care. I’m reconciled to my fate. That’s the way it is in this life, and I was born into it. One day, your time comes—and always at the end of a mobster’s gun.
I’m going to die. I’ll mouth off if I want to. And I won’t be controlled by anyone, least of all some Andriani prick.
“Your father’s signature on the marriage contract says I do,” Priest says calmly.
Smugly.
The fuck?
Marriage what?
Marriagecontract?
Jesus fucking cheese and crackers.
My mind goes blank. I can’t remember how to speak. I misheard him. He couldn’t have just said what I think he did.
“Bella, I wanted to have this conversation a different way,” my father says.
I look at him.Reallylook at him.
It feels like I’m at the end of a tunnel, like my vision is rounded off and dark at the edges, like I’m hearing his voice from afar. Panic. That’s what’s seized me. Did someone shoot me? Maybe I’m dead.
Am I dying?
I’m dying.
I look down, searching for blood.
“You’re not dying,bella.”
That voice.Hisvoice again. It’s darkly amused. Did I ask that out loud? Shit. I’m losing it.
“What conversation?” I demand of my father, too upset to hide the desperation in my voice.
They’re burned into my brain, those two words.Marriage contract.
Priest fucking Andriani said he has the right to control me. He said my father’s signature on a marriage contract gave him that right. But that’s impossible. We don’t do arranged marriages. This isn’t the old days. I have autonomy. That’s why I’m in Iowa finishing my MFA. That’s why I left this life in the dust and never looked back.
“I need you here,” my father tells me.
“Iamhere.” My panic is spiraling. I have zero chill right now. “You asked me to come home, and I did. I booked an early-morning flight and flew here in the middle of the week.”
“I need you tostayhere,” he elaborates, flicking a glance to Priest, then another to Saint. “You can’t go back.”
Saint chuckles. “Fucking heartwarming. Cut to the chase, Revello.”
No one speaks to my father with such disdain and lives to tell the tale. He’s been known to end men for far less.
But my father just quietly swallows it, his hands opening and closing on the armrests of his stupid red velvet chair, like he’s trying to grasp something that’s perpetually eluding him.
“We’re reuniting the families,” he tells me quietly.
There’s only one way to reunite the families—in blood.
And I’m my father’s only daughter. Just like Leo was his only son.
