Page 129 of The Silent War
I nodded once. “Okay. I’m listening. Tell me how you’re going to get those four men over there to sign me to you. And Damius, tell me how your grandfather allows it. Tell me your plan, Luca.”
I hoped he had one. That right now he would give me something solid. Instead my heart started breaking just like it had three years ago when they stopped replying.
“I saw the clothes,” I whispered. The pain bled straight through my voice. “I walked into the wrong room. Your spare room.”
Luca’s face dropped.
“At least it makes sense now. Must be a lot of work, removing her clothes from your wardrobe every time I come over.”
Pain consumed me. “I ignored it, Luca. The necklace. The hair ties. The security messages on your phone with updates on her.”
“It’s not what you think.”
I nodded tightly. “Of course not. It’s not like you and Bastion only show up to events you’re not formally invited to, dragging me into corners and bathrooms like a secret.”
I raised my hand, beckoning the bartender. “Pour this whiskey down the drain. Then pour another.”
The man hesitated, but then nodded. Anything to buy myself more time.
“Tell me I’m wrong, Luca. Please. Tell me it’s all in my head.”
The bartender set the new glass in front of me. I didn’t touch it.
I turned to Luca. My eyes flickered to his.
“It’s not what you think.”
“Fine.” I wrapped my hand around the drink, “Then explain it. Explain why you have a wardrobe worth ofwomen’s clothes on racks in your spare room. Explain why your phone lights up with updates from her security. Explain why Bastion has an entire message thread instructing his men to preheat the car before she gets in.”
I stepped closer, “Or better yet…Explain why neither of you ever mentioned the penthouse. The one everyone whispers about.”
The pain suddenly got a lot worse, because I could handle the truth, but being told lies, fed under the disguise of hope. I couldn’t handle that.
I waited.
One second. Two. Three.
He didn’t say anything.
The silence hollowed me out. I took it as my answer.
Turning on my heel, I walked back toward the table. My mask was already sliding back into place when his hand closed around my arm, sharp and unyielding.
“Luca—” I hissed, trying to pull free. “Let go of me.”
He didn’t. His grip only tightened.
In one motion he snatched Alaric’s untouched glass from my hand, tossed the glass into the planter by the door. Then he pulled me with him, his stride quick, unstoppable, until the bathroom door slammed shut behind us.
“Let go of me, Luca,”
Instead he turned, pressing me back against the tiled wall. His hand locked at my hip.
“If you go back to that man, Emilia, he will be dead by morning,” his mouth at my ear. “I’ll make it look like an accident. Can’t have our beautiful girl losing sleep.”
I pushed at his chest, I made it too steps before he caught my wrists easily. He turned me, pressing me forward until my hips met the marble vanity.
His hand spread flat against my stomach, pinning me back to him. The other hand pulled my skirt up.
