Page 91 of Savage Enemy

It had been easy enough to let myself believe Santo and I reconnected that night, that he still cared about me, and so easy to think I could trust Marco. But now, left alone with no support and nothing but my thoughts, I realized I didn’t really know anything at all anymore.

I didn’t know whether my brothers really had my back or if they’d simply chosen not to flaunt their cruelty in the same way Aris did.

Aris’s brand of savagery was almost preferable at this point, because at least I knew where he stood. And he didn’t waste his time giving me any hope.

Hope was the cruelest thing my family could give me.

A small part of me had hoped, though, at least until the fashionably late but unfashionably dressed Russian emissary showed up at the Palmer House.

I’d hoped Stefano would buy me.

But when fuckface Ivan confirmed his boss had planned to make a new offer after all, my hope instantly died.

Saul would go with the Russians. I believed it in my heart. Even if Stefano beat their offer, and he would, Saul would still choose the Russians rather than risk appearing inept to the other families while standing beside an up-and-coming young rival like Stefano Vignali.

Quit whining and figure out how to get back to Enzo.

I nodded to myself.

It’s not over until it’s over. So I got off the bed and paced the perimeter of the room, shuffling my bare feet across the wooden floorboards, sorting through all the information in my head to come up with a plan.

A productive plan, not one that would endanger my son.

I paced and cursed because my brain wasn’t giving me what I needed. I hadn’t eaten anything except those small portions of bread since before the ball.

The grandfather clock in the hallway chimed ten times.

God, I swore that old thing looked just like the Cogsworth character inBeauty and the Beast.

Then, as if Saul had an appointment for ten o’clock sharp, he turned the lock on my door and entered.

Followed by Aris, of course.

“Father.” I said in greeting, ignoring my twin’s existence.

Saul stopped in the center of the room and squinted.

“You’ve had a couple days to think about what you’ve done and the name you’ve dishonored more than once. So, Princess, what do you have to say about your actions?”

A headache throbbed violently behind my eyes.

I pressed a palm against my temple, hoping the pressure would ease the pain enough for me to think for a minute.

“Which actions?” I asked.

Saul sneered. “Yes, you have a few options, don’t you? Start with the ridiculous tales you spread about where you’ve been.”

“Well, I didn’t think you wanted me to tell everyone the truth, that you’d sold me to a bloodthirsty Russian monster, forcing me to fake my death to stay alive, which led me to give a rival boss in New York his first son.”

The old man huffed out a low chuckle, then, within like a millisecond, he was in front of me, his hand flying, the back of it crashing into my face.

His favorite move, and still I never saw it coming.

Blood spilled out of my mouth.

I toppled to the floor.

My head spun, and my ears rang.

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