Page 108 of Seeking Vengeance

Matthew takes the remark like a blow, his face momentarily sharpening as our eyes meet.

He’s notout, no matter what he says. Maybe physically, but not emotionally.

“I still care for his well-being, Layla.” He holds my gaze as he answers my unspoken thoughts. “That will never change.”

“My boy has daddy issues.” Bishop winks at me. “But who doesn’t, right?”

My heart thuds a painful beat at how right he is. At how Matthew and I continue to have more things in common.

“Are you done?” Matthew pushes from the counter. “As much as I’m enjoying this provoking mood, if you’ve got no more information, it’s time to fuck off.”

“Touchy much?” Bishop shoves from the sofa to pull on his jacket. “Am I calling in the helicopter?”

“No. We’re staying.”

“Are we?” I scowl, making it obvious I don’t appreciate the dictatorship.

“We’re staying,” he repeats. “You still have questions and we’re not going anywhere until they’re answered. If you want to walk out on me, you’re going to do it with crystal clarity.”

“I’m surprised she hasn’t walked already.” Bishop fixes his lapels and smirks at me. “Slow learner.”

“Go to hell,” I snap.

He snickers, breathing in my anger like a fine wine. Consuming it. “You’re far too lippy for a woman who’s just found herself in the middle of a gangland drug war.” He starts for the hall, his gaze turning to Matthew. “Make sure you ask some questions of your own. If she’s learning my secrets, I sure as hell want hers in return.”

I fight against the need to stiffen as he continues for the door, leaving the suite without another word.

I should follow. Escape. Cut ties with the thin threads of hopeful possibility that have me pondering whether I could start over, fresh and renewed.

Matthew won’t want me when he finds out who I really am.

Despite the instinctive connection between us, an enemy is still an enemy.

“Ask, Layla.” Matthew approaches. “Whatever’s on your mind, let it out.”

“Whatever’s on my mind?” I counter his steps, keeping the coffee table between us. “I can barely think straight.”

He stops behind the sofa, clenching the headrest in both hands. “You’ve gotta start somewhere.”

No, I don’t. I shouldn’t start at all.

I should walk. He knows it. I know it.

Lord knows my family would know it if they were privy to my latest phase of stupidity.

But curiosity and yearning tag team inside my chest, demanding answers.

I have to find out how far Matthew has distanced himself from his past. How he could’ve escaped the inescapable. And if he’s truly sincere about a future between us.

If he’s asking me not to judge, then maybe he won’t judge in return.

He might not despise me for who I am and what I’ve done.

Then there’s Lorenzo. If I’m going to return to Cole with my tail between my legs, the best option is to go back with information. Insight on the Italian mafia might soften my latest blow of shitty decisions.

The Cappellettis are a force.

Holy fucking shit.

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