Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 54283 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 271(@200wpm)___ 217(@250wpm)___ 181(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54283 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 271(@200wpm)___ 217(@250wpm)___ 181(@300wpm)
I hesitate, searching for a solution that doesn't put Brynna in the middle, one that causes her the least amount of pain possible.
"Perhaps you should move up your plans for the girl," Nicolas suggests. "Take her out now and remind Sullivan that every move he makes against you will only increase his pain."
I'm moving before the last words even leave his lips. My hands close around his throat as I shove him up against the wall, cold rage a familiar fucking friend. I don't see him. I see a red haze. It whispers at me to end his miserable life right here, right now.
"Príncipe," he rasps, surprise flickering in his eyes.
"Suggest killing her again, and it'll be the last thing you do, Nicolas," I snarl, my voice like ice.
His eyes widen, his mouth going slack with shock. "Nazario," he says, and I read the truth in his eyes. He knows she isn't just a pawn.
Fuck.
I shove him away from me, breathing hard.
For a long moment, Nicolas doesn't say anything. And then he clears his throat. "My apologies, príncipe," he says softly. "I didn't mean to offend. I meant only to offer a solution. I didn't realize you were…"
He doesn't finish that sentence, but he doesn't have to finish it. I'm so twisted up over her that I'm attacking my own people now. Dio. What the fuck is happening to me?
Ha. Do I even need to ask?
I stride to the far side of the room, staring out at the city. Traffic is at a standstill, crawling at a snail's pace everywhere I look.
Dios de la Guerra, the god of war, the fucking cocaine kingpin, brought to his knees by a fiery Irish princess with sugar in her soul.
And despite it, I'm now forced to do something guaranteed to make things even more fucking complicated between us. Because if I let her father's attack go unpunished, every vulture in the city will be circling, looking for weak spots. And so will Rojas.
I can't allow that.
I'm on my knees for her, but I will never bow for that motherfucker. And I won't allow anyone else to bow before him either.
Sullivan has no fucking idea what he's done. To punish me, he may have just destroyed his daughter. And I'm the goddamn monster who started that ball rolling. I turned her into a pawn even after I swore I wouldn't.
Fuck.
Forgive me, mi alma. Cristo. Forgive me.
I shut off my emotions, locking them away in the black void of my soul where even I can't reach them, and then I turn to Nicolas and give my order.
"Find Josef, Andrés, and Griffin," I say, my voice cold and flat. "We have a message to send."
Nicolas nods, approval glinting in the depths of his eyes. "Where are we delivering this message, príncipe?"
"Sullivan's precious club," I say without hesitation. "I'm going to burn it to ash."
Chapter Eight
Brynna
By night, my father's club is a den of iniquity. Champagne flows, poured from the hands of waitstaff who make more here than they do modeling. The dance floor is packed with people willing to pay his price just for a chance to walk through the doors. Thousands of lights glitter and glint, turning it into a place outside itself, one where you can get lost for a few hours.
But by day, it's a sad reminder of the sins people visit upon themselves in the name of hedonistic delight. A fine layer of grim coats the floor, so trampled into it that there is no getting it out again no matter how hard the staff scrubs. The expensive dance floor has scuffs in it. The lights are dim, barely even lighting up the place. And the only thing you're liable to lose here is your sanity.
I should know. I've been stuck here since Niall shook me awake before dawn, telling me we needed to go. He wouldn't tell me why, but he didn't need to tell me.
They always move me out of the house when they've done something particularly dangerous. And since Nazario is their target this time…well, I'm pretty good at math.
Guilt is eating me alive. I should have told him…something yesterday. Anything. I don't know what, but anything was better than nothing.
Does he know that I tried to warn him? Will he hate me when he finds out whatever my father and brother have done?
My soul trembles with anxiety at the possibility. It trembles with fear at the thought of what trespasses they may have committed against him.
Niall wouldn't tell me, of course. I tried to get it out of him, but he was as infuriatingly tight-lipped as ever.
I pace the edges of the dance floor, anxiety. Frustrated. Ready to snap.
My bodyguards clearly don't feel the same way. They're gathered around a table in the center of the room, knocking back a bottle of Jameson while they play cards. My father would probably lose his mind if he knew they were drinking on the job, but they always do when we're here.