Page 158 of Seeking Vengeance

“About fucking time.” Bishop storms for the hall.

I follow, De Marco stepping aside as I continue into Emmanuel’s room, fists clenched, pulse rocketing.

“Problems, son?” Emmanuel wheezes, clasping his oxygen mask as he smirks. “Did your pretty little thing run?”

I can’t bite.

I won’t.

A future with Layla can’t exist if I return to the Cappellettis. I won’t drag her into that. I need to find her before Emmanuel does.

I focus on Adena, glaring my hatred. “You betrayed me when I was a boy. You let him run loose, destroying the only happiness I had. You won’t go unpunished if you allow it to happen again.”

She stands taller, frowning.

“He’s your husband to control,” I sneer. “Your problem to solve. From now on, any action he takes will also be yours to absolve, and I don’t punish in halves.”

Emmanuel chuckles, the humming, wheezing noise growing.

I turn to my brothers, the muscles in my jaw aching from tension, my head pounding as I fight to ignore their father. “My hatred has always been for him.Nevereither of you. But so help me God, if you do anything to put her in harm’s way I’ll start a war you won’t survive.”

They don’t react.

Neither in spite or understanding.

Their faces remain emotionless. Impassive and detached.

“Let the race begin.” Emmanuel chokes as he laughs. “I’m sure we’ll see each other again as soon as we catch her.”

37

Layla

I forcemyself not to think of how Matthew will retaliate as I monkey climb down the trellis, my feet getting stuck in the thick vine weaving its way through the wooden slats.

I pretend he doesn’t exist as I run around the house to find the garage. And I focus on how the inside information on the Costas’ home will help my family as I scramble into the Bentley and drive my ass out of there.

I don’t think about how I’ll get home.

How I’ll survive.

I don’t contemplate anything more than the broad strokes of my escape plan until now when the desolate road is stretched before me, and I have nowhere to go.

I should’ve thought about how the hell I was going to get to Portland without a cell, money, and identification.

I should’ve focused on the issues that would arise if I attempted to escape in a car that had less than half a tank of gas.

“Shit.” I press my foot harder against the accelerator, eyeballing the rearview mirror, waiting for the first sign that someone is giving chase.

I need to find a phone. More importantly, I need to figure out how I’m going to tell Cole what I’ve done.

He’ll disown me. They all will.

I take deserted back road after deserted back road, using the car’s GPS to navigate an indirect route around the city.

I circle the outskirts of Denver, not knowing exactly where I am once farm road turns into suburban streets. All I can see are dilapidated homes with junk in the yard and old vehicles that make my current ride look like a carjacker’s dream come true.

I keep off the main thoroughfares, searching for a sign of life, finally slowing when I see three teenage girls walking along the street footpath, one of them scrolling on her cell.

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