Page 41 of Bound to Him

I stopped pouring coffee in my cup, and turned around. “Mr. Reyes?”

“You know him?”

“That’s my fiancé, Ziggy.”

Her eyes widened, and her hands covered her mouth. “Oh! But he’s so much older than you are. And so… different.”

I could hear her correcting herself as she spoke. She didn’t want to insult my husband-to-be.

“Yes, I know… he’s definitely not my first choice Ziggy… but as you said before, this family is ruthless, and I must be strong.”

She frowned. “That’s not entirely—”

“Don’t worry,” I touched her shoulder, my coffee in my other hand, “I can handle this.”

She definitely did look worried when I left the kitchen and walked through the house to the pool terrace. I knew that I would hate this, that it would be super difficult to act like I was fine, and that I wasn’t insanely pissed off with my father in general. But, after last night—and this morning, for that matter—I felt good, like I could handle anything. Yes, I wanted to cry about never having Huxley to myself again, but the memory of him loving me in that little cottage was enough to keep me pushing forward and dealing with all the shit thrown my way.

“Good morning,” I said, stepping onto the deck and smiling politely.

“Morning,amoré mio! I was wondering if you were up yet.”

Oi Papà, you have no idea.

My father was at the head of the table, Christian next to him, and the table was covered with breakfast foods. Christian wore a cream linen suit, with a blue shirt and brown leather shoes, and belt. He stood when he saw me.

“Good morning, Miss Olivia. I hope you don’t mind my joining you for breakfast.” He smiled that charming, deceiving smile of his. “I was hoping we could… ah, find a better footing, yes?” Confused, I frowned, so he elaborated. “Last time we met wasn’t a good start for us. Let me try again and take you out for the day?”

Oh, Jesus. I was not in the mood to spend the day withhim, nor would I ever be, I presumed. But I knew I had very little choice in the matter. After a quick glance at my expectant father, with a tight-lipped smile, I agreed and sat down to eat.

“Alright, Mr. Reyes.”

“Olivia, I have asked you before, call me Christian, please.”

Well alright then, sir.

“Sorry, Christian. So,” I started, while loading my plate with a croissant, cheese, and meat, “what are the plans for the day? I need to dress appropriately, you know.”

“Of course, yes. Well,” he looked my father’s way, nodding as if they’d just discussed it, “I’ve decided to show you the racetrack, then take you for lunch in the city.”

“The racetrack?”

“Horse racing.”

“Oh, I see.”

So, a morning of betting money away then, sounded lovely.

“Sounds like good fun, right Olivia?” my father asked, clearly worried I was going to lash out again and say no.

“Yes, Papà.” I smiled at Christian. “Sounds like a lot of fun.”

* * *

At the racetrack,there was a whole lot more than just betting going on. I found myself right in the middle of the Columbian drug cartel. I knew my father dealt with shady people, I even knew Christian had ties with the cartel and that he was a wealthy man who did business with the Italian mafia.

I didn’t know that hewasthe Columbian cartel.

From the moment we arrived in his i8, he was treated like royalty. I was used to some form of that—with my father being an Italian mafia don—but this was different. He threw his keys at the valet and walked us in with his arm possessively around my shoulders. When we reached the top floor VIP area, wait staff ran around hurriedly setting up a lounge area just the way he liked it.

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