Page 137 of Seeking Vengeance

“You hate your brother,” Matthew states.

“No, I don’t.”

I despise him at times. Am sickened and beside myself with fury occasionally. But I’ve never hated him. Instead, it will be Cole who detests me for the complications I’ve created.

“No? He treats you like shit. Are you really in a hurry to get back to that?”

“As if you’ve treated me any bett—”

“I’ve treated you like a queen. Likemyqueen. Cole’s actions are the reason you found it so fucking easy to move in with a stranger.”

My stomach twists, the pain spreading.

“You don’t want to return to Portland, Layla.” He gentles his tone. “Once we sort out our differences, you’ll want to stay here.”

“Of course,” I drawl. “I’d much prefer to remain with someone who makes it their job to hide the truth. You even had the balls to introduce Lorenzo as your mentor.”

“He is my mentor.”

“He’s youruncle.”

He inclines his head. “He’s that, too.”

I growl in frustration, my nails embedded in my palms. I need to hurt him like he’s hurting me, but shooting or stabbing would never be enough. I have to reach inside his chest and wring the life from his beating heart, just like he’s done to mine.

I cut my gaze away, unable to withstand those deep, dark eyes anymore, and whisper, “My brother will kill you.”

“In that case, I better make the most of our time together.” He places the ice pack on the marble and rounds the counter. “Bishop, can you give us a minute?”

“Need me to do anything?” Bishop pushes from the wall, his arms falling to his sides.

“Call the charter. Have a jet placed on standby.”

“Destination?”

“To be determined.”

I keep my face cast in the opposite direction as Bishop strides for the entry, the front door closing seconds later.

The tension increases tenfold. My suffering, too.

I wish I still had the knife. Death by cyanide won’t be gruesome enough.

“Layla, listen to me.” Matthew hobbles closer. “Everything between us is real—I promise you that. But I understand I hurt you.” He reaches the sofa and continues to hesitantly sit on the coffee table before me. Knee to knee. “If it’s any solace, I can assure you my balls ache like a motherfucker.”

I keep my mouth shut, not finding solace at all.

The quiet stretches, his gaze haunting my periphery, his body entirely too close.

“The silent treatment isn’t an option either,amore mio. You’re going to have to find a way to push your animosity aside. Remy may have already told Emmanuel about us.”

I snap my head around to glare at him, wordlessly letting him know there is nous.

“Do you understand what’s happening?” His gaze leisurely rakes mine. Unfazed. In command. “Your brother’s shooting would be considered retaliation. An attempt at murder in response to your husband’s death. But this?” He waves a lazy hand between us. “This is personal. Depending on what information Remy shares, you might be held accountable for taking things further. For you, personally, levelling up the war all on your own.”

My throat turns dry.

“I don’t know if they have men in D.C.,” he continues, “or if Emmanuel is capable of arranging retaliation from his hospital bed. But do you want to risk leaving here and finding out how quickly they can strike a helpless woman on her own?”

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