Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 81767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
I offer a kind smile. “She’s going to have a great time, I promise. Someone should enjoy the night.”
“If you’re sure, miss.” He finally reaches out to take the ticket and cash and tucks it into his inner coat pocket. “I’ll make sure she knows what to do.”
“Thank you, Paul. Oh, but before I forget, there’s one extra condition.”
“What’s that, miss?”
“Don’t for a second let them make her sit through a boring timeshare presentation. She has my full permission to say a few unladylike words and walk away.”
Paul’s laugh echoes in the vaulted and sleek lobby. He’s already on the phone with his daughter by the time I step outside. Vincent opens the car door for me, and I give him a quiet thank you before slipping in. Once I’m in the safety of the backseat and the partition is rolled up, my smile drops, and I let out a few unladylike words myself.
Of course, someone should enjoy the night because it certainly won’t be me.
Chapter 12
Fiora
The car stops just outside of Serafina, and Vincent opens the door for me before driving off. I’m left alone, staring at the name on the sign against the brick building. This is one of the few restaurants my father will set foot in. It reminds him of his childhood summers in Italy and traveling the Mediterranean, which his family always did. He has kept that tradition alive with me and my siblings until my mother died. Once she was gone, every family tradition died with it.
I give myself only five seconds to let the autumn breeze wash over my heated cheeks before I step inside the busy restaurant. Papa doesn’t like to be kept waiting.
As soon as I mention Godwin, I’m ushered into a private room near the back of the restaurant. I know it’s the right one because my father’s bodyguard, Alonso, stands nearby and nods to me as I pass. When I enter the room, my father is the first person I see, seated at a four-person table that already has full glasses of wine poured. Silvano Frost sits across from him, looking dapper in a pinstripe suit, his thinning hair slicked back out of his angular face.
And, to my dismay, Braken Frost sits next to him, green eyes watching my every move as I enter.
I try not to let annoyance twist my face. What are the Frosts doing here? They are the last guests I expect seated at a table with my father. Out of all the other rich families in the Northwest, they are the top of my shitlist. I can’t trust anything to do with them. Why should I? I’m still not entirely convinced they aren’t the ones responsible for Mason’s murder.
But if they are innocent of that, they are still guilty. Mason would still be here if they had even an ounce of security present on their turf. People should know not to mess with anyone on Frost territory. If they are as powerful as Silvano Frost boasts, then a hitman wouldn’t dare commit a crime where they do business in fear of the ramifications. People should fear the Frost name. But their failure to do that has ended with blood on their hands.
A small part of me is hopeful this dinner is an excuse to get to the bottom of Mason’s death, but there’s a knot in my stomach and a weight on my chest. I know the truth. I know why I’m here. I’m just not ready to admit it, even to myself.
“Fiora, sit down,” my father orders with a snap of his fingers. “You’re late.”
I’m not, but I don’t argue. Don’t embarrass me, my father’s voice replays as I step forward to kiss his cheeks. That means looking pretty and shutting the hell up.
“I’m sorry for keeping you all waiting.”
I can feel Braken’s eyes on me as I shift around my father and take my seat. Braken doesn’t hide that he’s been ogling me. His gaze bounces from the curves of my waist and chest, to the diamonds on my fingers and ears, and finally lands on my face. Tonight, he looks like he stepped out of one of his magazine photoshoots. His dark brown hair is pushed to the left, and his light gray suit is crisp and well-fitted, showing off his broad shoulders. The top button of his dress shirt is undone, and that tattoo on his neck and collarbone is once again visible. It’s dark in the room thanks to the mood lighting, but his smirk is obvious.
I want to snap at him to keep his eyes off me, but I have to settle for a sarcastic smile.
“I didn’t expect these to be your guests, Papa,” I say. Thank God the wine is already poured. I’ll need a lot of it before the night is over.