Page 70 of Reluctant Heir

He places his cigar on a glass plate resting on a small table between our chairs.

“You are a traitor to your own kind. And I don’t think you’ll last if those men your father called partners in his laughable mob family find out. I relish watching the Soltorre name crumble into nothing. I only wish it had happened when your father was still alive.”

“Why not kill me now?” I ask, fully aware that I’m poking the beast.

“I’m a bored old man,” he says with a shrug. “I need a little excitement in my life. Get out.” He growls the last two words.

I stand, striding for the door. I look back at him once. The back of his head greets me, as he doesn’t bother to watch me leave. He’s made his position clear. I can’t expect his help, and I don’t want it. All I want is for Lilliana to not have to grow up here, be ordered around. Her mother got out in a sense, but she didn’t really. She went from one prison to the next and then back. I want more for my sister. I want more for me. And it looks like I’ve got another enemy to contend with.

God help us all.

I shut the door behind me and find Wryn still sitting across the room, on the piano bench, with Lilliana by her side. She looks subdued. I consider them for a moment, wondering what would happen if I took hold of Lilliana right now and walked her out of the room.

I wouldn’t make it out alive—I know that for certain—but it doesn’t stop me from entertaining the thought. I’ve gone mad.

Sylvia is glaring at me from her spot on the couch. There’s no love lost between us. She never tried to form a relationship with me, only with Bertrand. I never could understand what she saw in him. I never tried.

I come to a stop beside the piano, and both women turn to look up at me, Lilliana smiling and Wryn staring.

Lilliana stands, wrapping thin arms around me. “I’m so glad you are here,” she says against my chest, and I hold her to me.

“Are you okay here?” I ask her, leaning back to search her face, and she frowns at me.

“Of course. Why?” she asks, as if it’s never crossed anyone’s mind to treat her poorly.

She’s so innocent. Even growing up in this world, she’s taken on a bright outlook in life. It’s one thing my father managed to do right. By leaving her alone most of the time, he didn’t foster her hatred and distrust of human beings. She’s optimistic, and she finds the best in others. I think that could be very good for her—or her complete downfall.

I need her out of here. I need her with me, so I can make sure she doesn’t fall into the wrong hands.

“No reason,” I tell her, smiling. “Just a big brother looking out for his sister.” I grab and squeeze her hands before dropping them and then catch Wryn’s gaze. “We are leaving.”

She nods, rising from the piano bench and allowing Lilliana to hug her, and they say their good-byes. I grasp her hand, and the cold clamminess of it jolts me. I side-eye her, but she doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t act like my touching her even registers in her mind. Something is wrong. She’s not acting like the Wryn I’ve come to know.

Fuck, when did I come to know her? Was it last night when I was deep inside her? Fucking her? Or has this been slow, in slight looks and touches that I’ve become accustomed to in her presence?

We walk out the front doors, and I don’t drop her hand, not as we wait for Geo to bring the car and not as we get situated on the seat inside of it. She pulls away first, wrapping her hands together in her lap as she stares out the window.

I want to ask her what’s wrong, but she stays turned away from me. I meet Geo’s eyes in the rearview mirror as he pulls out of the long driveway, headed for the guard shack. I shrug, and he looks back at the road. We stop, retrieving our weapons before pulling off the property, heading back to our hotel.

I get on my phone, the haunting music Wryn played on Viktor’s piano flitting through my mind as I order one of my own pianos. She looked so happy and serene as her fingers flew across the keys, and for some strange reason, I want to hear her songs playing through my own house. I guess I can call it a wedding present. It doesn’t have to mean anything. Once I’m done, I turn off my phone, placing it back in my pocket.

After about ten minutes of silence, she finally speaks, and it’s not what I thought she would say.

“He knows,” she says, and her tone is so ominous and resigned.

“He knows what?” I ask, but I’m afraid I already know what she’s talking about.

“About Bertrand. He knows.” She’s still staring out the window, her shoulders tense and her back rigid.

The streetlights illuminate her and then fade away, only to do it all over again, but she still doesn’t look at me.

“Why do you think that?” I ask, moving closer to her but stop when I see her tense even more.

“He told me.”

“What were his exact words?”

She turns to me then, the emptiness in her eyes chilling me.

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