Page 108 of The Billionaire's Baby
"Why don't you go inside, and I'll explain?" Arpad tilts his head.
"I have a better idea," I snap. "Why don’t I leave instead?"
I turn to go, but Arpad plants his body in my path. "Not so fast, Sparks. We have unfinished business."
No.I shake my head. I tip my head up to meet his gaze. His eyes narrow and there’s a harsh set to his features. He glares at me and I swallow.
"Don’t do this," I whisper.
"Too late." His emotionless expression seems carved in stone. "It’s happening; you don’t have a choice now but to comply."
"You’ll regret this." I search his features, trying to catch a glimpse of the man who had kissed me, fucked me, who’d put his ring on my finger. I hold up my hand, turn it around so he can see the ring on my finger.
"I already am," he growls.
I swallow, then pull myself up to my full height.
I pivot and Victor steps aside. I walk into the house. The remnants of sunshine disappear and the cold instantly seems to wrap itself around me.
I shiver, hunch my shoulders, then warmth sears my back. It’s Arpad, and for a second, I want to lean back, wallow in his comfort. Instead, I take a step forward.
I glance around.
Victor beckons me, "This way."
I follow, Arpad on my heels.
I cross the hallway, walk inside a room. There’s a rectangular table in the center, chairs around it; on the wall behind is an insignia with which I am well familiar. A single white rose, with a drop of blood marring the perfection of its petals… Or adding to it, as I’d often thought.
I walk over to a chair in the middle of the table and drop into it. "Let’s just get this over with."
Footsteps sound, then my chair is spun around with such force that a cry bursts out from me, "What the hell?"
"Shouldn’t that be my dialogue, Sparks?" Arpad snaps.
"You’re the one who brought me here. Why don’t you tell me?"
"That’s all you have to say for yourself?" He scowls.
"Hey," I protest, " you're the one who brought me here, and now for some reason you seem to be pissed with me? What's your bloody problem, Arpad?"
His scowl deepens. He seems on the verge of saying something, when a familiar voice rings out from behind me, "Karina."
I stiffen, then turn to face the new arrival. He's tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in a slate grey suit that I know costs more than the economy of a third-world country. Nothing but the best for Gregory Solonik, as befits his status as the head of the Bratva.
"Hello, Papa." I blow out a breath.
My father narrows his gaze on me, "I told you to keep out of trouble."
"And I told you I could manage on my own."
"This—" he jerks his chin toward the glowering Arpad, "this is what you mean by managing?"
"This..." I fold my arms about my waist, "this is not what it seems."
"Why don't we all sit down?" Victor glances between us.
Arpad’s jaw tics. A nerve throbs at his temple. He releases me so suddenly that I crash back into the chair. He backs away, and instantly, the cold closes in on me. I turn my chair around just as my father walks over to take his seat at the head of the table.
