Page 55 of Pretty Little Things

It was around then a lot more business meetings happened, all when Lili seemed to be around and Senior didn’t ogle her in front of my father, just when he thought he was alone.

I saw it. I loved my sister. I hated him.

His father raped her again and killed her on her twenty-first birthday. I saw that happen. Couldn’t stop it until it was too late, so I fucking killed him. Gleefully. And then Hendrick killed my father for revenge.

The pathetic fuck denies that.

And for ten years now we’ve been at an impasse.

If I can’t kill the piece of shit, then I’ll destroy everything precious to him.

That necklace isn’t his, but it’s important to him. The history of it. How the ownership changed between families over the decades. But it’s been ours—mine—fair and square. Or should be.

When it went missing a quarter century ago, the rift between the Millers and Agnossios formed, one too large and filled with blood and treachery to mend.

He has the necklace.

I always knew it. And the fake in a weird way is proof. A taunt.

Pulling on black silk pajama bottoms, I like to lounge about in, I pull on the matching robe, and staring at my rings, I turn the thick silver pinky ring on my left hand, the one with the emeralds.

My last gift from Lili.

It focuses me. For her, I’ll fucking wipe the planet free of Agnossio vermin.

And anyone stupid enough to side with them.

Including MG Rossi.

* * *

“Took your damn time,” she says when I stroll back into the study.

I stop.

“You didn’t leave.”

“Clearly.” She sits in the middle of the foot of my bed. In one of her hands is the fake. She turns it, the stones and precious metals sliding against one another, and in my head, a clock ticks. I can fucking hear it. “We weren’t done.”

“Or,” I say, going to my walk-in closet. On the shelf right near the door are casual T-shirts, and I slip my hand beneath the neat pile on the sixth shelf and pull out my gun. I turn and stand in front of her and flick off the safety, “you were too scared to.”

MG raises a brow, and she really is beautiful. Now there aren’t layers of fake persona in the way, it’s the kind of beauty that calls to something in me. The deadliness, the intelligence, the wit and just plain old bravery that give her looks a vibrant edge.

She’s not soft. She’s not good.

She’s fascinating.

I’m not sure I’ve ever met anyone like her, and my cock stirs.

But I’m not here for a first fucking date.

I point the gun at her.

She lifts her chin. “I’m not afraid of you. So put that dick substitute away. I stayed because, as I said, we’re not fucking finished.”

“Do you know what happens if I kill you?”

MG sighs. “No one will ever find a trace of me, unless, of course, you want them to.”

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