Page 27 of Vengeance

“You know,” Pray says, “I see a lot of myself in you.”

“So you told me earlier.”

“Yes, but we couldn’t talk as freely as we can now,” he points out. Without waiting for me to agree or disagree with that, he continues, “I started out much like you. With a vision of the power that my family could acquire and eventually bringing that vision into fruition. The only difference is that my family wasn’t… pliable to my vision.”

I’ve never spent a lot of time wondering where Stephen Pray came from and who he was related to. All I know is that there have always been a lot of rumors that he was once related totheItalian mafia. The Fantonis. In Sicily. I’ve never been privy to circles where it was discussed beyond that, and though Bella may know, I’ve never cared or thought to ask. Frankly, it was never relevant.

“I don’t usually talk about business this late, and it’s been a long day. So if you’d please get to the point,” I reply.

“Such a fiery spirit,” Pray comments.

I pause to wonder if he’s reminded of the fiery fifteen-year-old girl who argued with him in his office. The woman who he was concerned had pull over Viper so he ordered him to kill her. But there’s nothing in his eyes. No recognition. I’m just Addy to him.

“I think that if we worked together, our assets and talents could be mutually beneficial to each other. Your control of the east coast. My control of the west and the Midwest.... It would be the biggest partnership in history. Not even the global organizations could compete with us.”

If I were naïve and didn’t have the laundry list of people who Pray has turned his back on, betrayed, and plans to betray in the future, I might actually believe him. But it would start as a partnership. Or, at least, the guise of one. And then he’d find a way to get rid of me. He’s familiar with the phrase keep your enemies close too, after all. I’m sure.

“Tempting,” I reply. “But I’ve already got a good deal.”

“The question is, with who?”

I don’t answer. One thing I’ve learned over the years is that if you don’t say anything, either the other person is going to keep talking and reveal something important or they’re going to end the conversation without answers.

Pray didn’t come all this way not to get answers. So he keeps talking.

“While I applaud your brilliance, there’s no way you could have done this on your own. You would have needed someone’s help.”

“You did it on your own,” I point out.

“So I let the world believe. Just like you hope I’m so stupid as to believe that Adrian hasn’t been helping you every step of the way.”

I swallow my instincts to immediately reply, and the false contraction helps with that because I don’t think I could talk straight through it.

Finally, when I’ve risen above my instincts to deny him and the discomfort of my stomach contracting, I say, “But you don’t know that. Do you?”

He doesn’t say anything, so I decide to keep talking and hope Viper gets here soon.

“You don’t know anything about me. You don’t know what to do with me and neither does anyone in your inner circle. And you can’t trust Adrian’s judgment. So you had to come yourself.” I’m technically just rambling, but the more I talk, the more this makes sense. “All this time, you’ve enjoyed your usurped power unchallenged. Not a threat in sight. Until me. And you don’t know what the right move is. You don’t know how far the branches of my influence spread. Whether killing me will unite all the enemies outside and inside your empire against you. That’s quite a position to be in.”

I could say more, but another contraction comes and I’m forced to stop talking. Because this one hurts. More than any of the painful false contractions I’ve had before.

“I was hoping not to end this night in violence,” Pray says. “But it seems that someone needs to be shown her place.”

I don’t intend to wait to find out exactly what that means, I pull one of my guns out my dress, and so does Eileen. I have mine on Pray and hers is on the bodyguard who has a gun pulled on me. For some reason, the only person who isn’t flustered is the one man who doesn’t have a gun in his hand.

Suddenly, Bella is dragged into the room. Her hair, once in a neat elegant bun before she left, in disarray and half down her back. Her evening dress from the night is ruined and ripped in multiple places along the skirt. But even still, it takes three of Pray’s largest guards to hold the petite, snarling woman as she struggles in their grip.

“I asked for the children,” Pray says in displeasure.

“They’ve disappeared. She won’t tell us where they are.”

“I’m sure she can be made to cooperate,” Pray says.

Bella cackles and snaps, “Fuck you.”

One of the guards knocks her in the head with the butt of his gun and throws her to the ground before pointing his gun at her.

“Now how about we let calmer minds prevail?” Pray asks. “Unless you want to see her die.”

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