Page 59 of Stolen By the Don

I chomp down hard instead of chewing, no longer tasting the flavor in the food. Everything feels bland, except Leo’s keen eyes still watching me.

“Okay.” I whirl around, pointing the fork at him. “What is it? Why are you here? Don’t you have to be withhim?”

“That would imply that I’m his assistant or his bodyguard.”

I shrug nonchalantly. “Yeah. Exactly. That’s what you are, isn’t it? That’s why you follow him everywhere.” The jab is straight and meant to make him pissed, so everyone gets a slice of what I feel, but he merely purses his lips and tilts his head.

“I see your point. I drove him from your wedding. Your first wedding,” he corrects.

The part of my life that feels like it never happened. “I’m not sure I want to know the answer, but tell me.” I drop the fork and fold my arms. “Did you tell him it was a bad idea? Shooting a groom on his wedding day and stealing the bride? I get that he likes to make a statement, but it’s bad luck, you know.”

I drop my tone, and my lips curl meanly. “Enough bad luck that he might never get the revenge he thinks he deserves.”

Leo strokes his chin, unbothered by my fearmongering. “That would only work if he believed in superstitions in the first place. Which, I’m sorry to tell you—because it seems like something you’d want—he doesn’t. And Marco Ricci isn’t going to hide forever.”

I throw my hands in the air. “I don’t know who’s worse, you or him. And I also know why you’re here. You’re supposed to keep an eye on me so I don’t run away.”

“To where?” Leo asks.

To where?

I push the chair back noisily, standing up. “I’m allowed to leave the house, aren’t I?”

He nods.

“Good.” I grin. “Then I want to. I’m assuming you’re my designated driver. I’ll be down in fifteen minutes,” I add, tossing my hair over my shoulder as I stroll out of the kitchen. My stomach grumbles as I step into the hallway, and I groan, turning into the kitchen again.

Grabbing two slices of toast, I head out, shoving one into my mouth and chewing out of pure spite.

The second I walk into the vintage store, I sense it. Roman. From Mickey’s panicked eyes and his pale face, I know Roman must’ve visited him.

And the worst part? I know I led him right to this place.

Too bad. I held out some hope that he’d have something for me the next time I showed up. It doesn’t matter, though, because I’m not trying to reach my father. Leaving the house and coming here was an act of defiance. To whom or what…I’m not sure.

“W-what are you doing here?” Mickey stammers as I walk to his counter, shuffling backward. “I don’t—I don’t have anything for you.” His eyes dart to the door, where the car is parked, and Leo is behind the wheel.

Leo was here too.

“It’s fine.” I shake my head, whispering as I lean over, “I’m not here for anything. I thought I’d check up on you.”

Mickey squints at me, his eyes narrowing with suspicion as he leans back, hands fidgeting near the edge of the counter. “Why?”

I start to reply, when I see the marks on his wrist. Bind marks. They’re faint, but I know torture when I see it.

“Hold on,” I say as I toss my bag on his counter, spinning on my heel and making an angry beeline back to the door. Leo exits the car as he sees me coming, holding the back door open.

“What did you do to him?” I bark, planting my hands on my hips.

Leo raises a brow. “What did who?—?”

“Don’t play dumb with me,” I cut in. “I saw the look on Mickey’s face. He’s scared out of his mind. You did something, didn’t you? Tried to squeeze him for information about my father? Did you think my father would trust someone like Mickey? He can barely hold eye contact without sweating through his shirt.”

“That’s why he has only faint lines on his wrists,” Leo replies, unremorseful but not cruel. I wasn’t expecting an apology anyway. It only enforces the reason why he’s Roman’s best friend.

Kind, yet firm. “Chill,” he adds, closing the door. “I’m not going to hurt himagain.He’s at the mercy of your father now, so perhaps that’s who you should reserve your anger for.”

I’m tempted to agree with his logic, against my better judgment, and I feel some grudging respect for it.

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