Page 48 of Forbidden Bond

“You idiot!” I yell, punching him in the chest.

He winces. “Fuck, Katherine. That hurts.”

I turn to the security men, who seem intent on having Jameson pay for the damages.

“How much does he owe?” I ask, because that’s the quickest way to defuse this situation.

“Actually, the boss wants him brought in. He doesn’t take kindly to people who accuse him of running a dirty game.”

Oh, great. Jameson just had to open his big mouth and get us in trouble.

“Okay,” I say, nodding while trying to think up a way out of this situation. “And who’s the boss?”

“The casino belongs to the D’Angelo family.”

My eyes widen and my blood runs cold.

“I’m sorry, what?”

I whirl around to face Jameson. He’s staring at me with a guilty expression.

“This belongs to the D’Angelos?!”

“Calm down, Katie. It’s one of the establishments they own under a fake name. I didn’t think anything was going to happen.”

A chill goes up my body. “Well, you thought wrong.”

“It’ll be fine. I’ll go see him. Just wait for me outside, okay?” he says, placing a hand on my shoulder.

“Actually,” one of the security men says, “boss wants to see her, too.”

Oh, great. Just perfect.

“No,” Jameson says. His jaw ticks as he moves to stand in front of me. “She’s not going anywhere.”

“You can come willingly. Or we can drag you there. Your choice, Mr. Clyde. But trust me, if the Don wants to see her, he’ll see her.”

He shifts slightly and my eyes are immediately trained on the glint of a gun in a holster at his side. I swallow softly as my heart rate speeds up.

“Let’s go, Jamie.”

We’re led to a room at the back of the casino. I manage to surreptitiously send a text to my sister asking for help. She’ll be able to track my phone’s location. If anything goes wrong, she’ll know where we are. One of the security men opens the door and we’re ushered into the room. It’s a dimly lit office, and seated at the table is Christian D’Angelo.

I’ve seen a lot of pictures of him. He’s in his late twenties, with dark hair like Topher. They look alike, except where Topher’s eyes are warm, there’s nothing even remotely friendly about the man standing in front of me. He’s attractive, with sharp features and a strong jawline. When he gets to his feet, it’s easy to see that he’s the man in control.

He walks toward us, gesturing at the couch in the office.

“Mr. Clyde, Ms. Malone, have a seat,” he states.

There’s something in the undertones of his voice that beckons obedience. He’s a man used to being listened to. So we listen. Jameson and I sit down.

“I’m sorry about the fight. It was stupid of me and I promise I’ll pay for all the damages,” Jameson states.

Christian gives him a cool, appraising look, “Of course you’ll pay for all the damages. Jameson, right?” he doesn’t wait for a reply. “I won’t take kindly to any more false accusations. Especially against our dealers. We run an honorable operation here, Mr. Clyde. If you lost, take it like a man, don’t throw petty tantrums. They’re beneath you.”

Jameson’s jaw is clenched but even he’s not stupid enough to bait the head of a mafia organization.

“I understand.”

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