Page 49 of The Consequences of Love and Vengeance

“That’s the reason you asked me to accompany you tonight?” I don’t give him a chance to respond. “Alana is all wrong for Jackson, but you have the perfect man picked out for me. Gee, Dad, what were you saying about not wanting to run your kids’ lives?”

“Is it so damn wrong of me to want a better life for you than you currently have? To want you taken care of?”

Does he not know me?

He does; he just doesn’t give a shit about what I want. Everything has always been about him.

“I don’t need to be taken care of, Dad. I can put any man in this room on their ass in seconds. And as far as my life goes... it’s pretty good. I like my job. You don’t have to like it; I do.”

“That’s your problem; you want to be the one wearing the pants. You’ll never have a solid relationship with that way of thinking.”

“Dad, I can get laid just fine.” I laugh internally at the expression forming on his face. “I don’t need your help. But thanks.”

“Brianna Claire!” he huffs. “Jesus motherfucking Christ.”

“Nice language.”

“Well, then don’t say something that’s going to make me lose my shit.”

“You deserved it for bringing me here under false pretenses.”

“I did want to spend time with you. We live in the same city and I see Jackson more than I see you.”

“Can you take me home now since you only wanted to pawn me off on some entitled prick with a bank account you approve of?” I question, feeling a pang of guilt, knowing he’s right.

I never make an effort to see him. In fact, I make more of an effort to distance myself from the man than I ought to. Regardless, he is my father; the only one I’ll ever have.

“I can’t leave this early.” He looks around. “It would be rude.”

His hand goes up, flagging down the waiter who’s passing by our table.

I doubt the mayor or anyone else in his camp would even realize Robert Andrews had left. I should tell him that just to piss the old man off. He’s not as important as he likes to think he is.

Contemplating just that dissipates at the feel of someone standing behind me. Places like this, where there are multiple entrances all over the room, give the cop in me anxiety. There’s no place to sit where I’d be able to see all entry and exit points.

The person is close—too close for my liking—and I’m hoping like hell it isn’t whatever schmuck my father had in mind for me tonight.

“I didn’t realize police presence was needed at a charity fundraiser.” His voice alone causes goose bumps to pebble on my skin. He moves away from my ear just as quickly as he leaned down, eliciting a shiver out of me.

If I hadn’t been looking right at my father when Drago whispered into my ear, I would have missed the icy look he gave him.

“Robert,” Drago says, flatly.

He knows my dad?

“Why are you here, Acerbi?”

Drago pulls out the empty chair next to me and proceeds to sit.

“Same as you I suppose.” A waiter passes by, and Drago waves him to stop. The waiter hands him a flute of champagne. Drago holds out his free hand and the waiter gives him a second flute, which he then places in front of me. After he takes a sip, his eyes never leaving mine, he says, “You look stunning.”

“I didn’t take you for a champagne kind of man,” I reply and immediately regret my words. He tells me I’m beautiful and I criticize what he’s drinking.

Smooth, real smooth, Bri.

“It’s a champagne ball, I’m pretty limited in my choices, don’t you think?” He smiles, and it makes my pussy pulse. What in the hell is wrong with me? And how does he affect me like this every time I’m close to him? And with my father sitting across from us. That alone should gross me out.

I shrug, not wanting to open my mouth in fear of what might fall out.

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