Page 13 of Bound By Her

Eric was her Right Hand, appointed to protect, guide, and when necessary, challenge her. Every family head had one. Every heir did too.

Her father hadn’t given her one. Too young, he’d said.

Too much of a girl.

So, like most things in her life, she’d done it herself.

The bathroom held clothes she had prepped the night before. A rose blouse that covered her tattoos and family markings, and an above-the-knee pencil skirt with leather black boots.

Adria pouted her lips in the mirror, her tawny skin pairing nicely with the deep red lipstick she had chosen. She ran her fingers along her tight bun. The dark tendrils pressed to her head, and her fingers ensured there wasn’t a hair out of place.

Smoothing her skirt, she stared at her reflection in the mirror.

Her father’s pale green eyes stared back at her. She remembered the first business meeting he had brought her to. She was ten. The tension around the table was palpable but her young self sat perfectly still. Her father had taught her that emotions get one killed. And thus, she sat like a statue throughout the meeting. Even as the warm spray of blood spattered across her face, and theman opposite her crumpled off his chair. Even as the ringing of the gunshots reverberated in her chest and ears, she sat frozen until her father’s green eyes locked on hers.

Afterwards, he told her how brave she was and even bought her an ice cream. Which she guiltily ate. Because she wasn’t brave. She was just very good at hiding being scared.

Adria blinked, her father’s green eyes fading into her own.

Callen was scum. He was the one who had suggested that her seat change to ninth at the table after her ascension. She hadn’t been able to handle him then, but she could handle him now. There was nothing she could not handle. Nothing she couldn’t take care of.

The Winters family was not one to be underestimated.

But Adria was no kitten. She knew what she wanted; she was meticulous, committed, and driven. Left nothing to chance. Planned everything down to the last detail and down to the most remote contingency.

That type of person was dangerous.

She was dangerous.

Stepping out of the bathroom, she found Eric still leaning against the wall.

“Ready?” she said.

He nodded, but didn’t leave his spot.

Patting his jacket, Eric searched the folds until he found something small.

He held it out to her.

The Federov family ring.

A gold band with a horned sheep carved into it, the family’s symbol, and the name Federov stamped under the horns.

It was her father’s ring.

She hated it.

“For appearances,” he said.

She glared at him, but he didn’t back down.

“Fine,” she snapped.

Grabbing the ring, she slipped it on her middle finger.

CHAPTER 4

CHICAGO

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