Page 11 of Cruel Deception
I slump in the dining room chair, Cassian’s words searing through my skull like a brand.You’re mine—to ruin, to shatter, to destroy.
He knows things about me—about my mother—that peel me open, leaving me raw.
Does he know about my surgery too? The scars I hide under padded bras, the secret I’ve guarded like a wound? If he does, why hasn’t he thrown it in my face like Nico does?
Maybe he doesn’t care—or maybe he’s saving it for a crueler moment. Either way, his presence lingers like smoke, choking me.
I force myself to stand, chin high, as if I can piece myself back together through sheer will.
Luca said to explore, to talk later, but I can’t stay here, not with Cassian’s threat hanging over me.
I need to get his bike, deliver it tomorrow, and find the courage to demand what he knows about my mother. If she’s in Chicago, trapped in some mafia hell, he’s my only shot at finding her.
I’d crawl through fire to save her, and if that means facing Cassian’s wrath, so be it.
Outside, Nico’s pacing near the car, his eyes darting over the Moretti estate’s grandeur—manicured lawns, marble fountains, guards watching him like hawks ready to strike.
“Let’s go,” I say, sliding into the backseat, my voice clipped.
He hops in, smirking. “Thought you’d be longer. What, loverboy didn’t like the no-tits reveal?”
I stare out the window, ignoring him.
Cassian’s scent—cedar, leather, gunpowder—still clings to my senses, and I’m already dreading tomorrow’s meeting.
Will he call me out? Hurt me? Or worse, dangle my mother’s fate like bait?
“Take me to Grandfather’s house,” I say. “I need something there.”
Nico glances at me through the rearview mirror, his smirk fading. “You know your dad’s selling that dump, right?”
My heart lurches, pain slicing through me. “What?” The word comes out sharp, raw.
That house—crumbling, haunted, worthless to anyone else—is all I have left of Grandfather. The sagging porch where we whittled birds, the kitchen where we burned soup and laughed. My father, with his millions, wants to erase it?
“Just drive,” I snap, my voice trembling.
“Okay, princess,” he mutters, starting the engine.
We pull up to the house, its warped boards and peeling paint glowing faintly under the afternoon sun.
I bolt out, heading straight for the backyard shed where I hid Cassian’s bike.
My stomach drops—it’s gone. The ivy-covered corner is empty, no glint of chrome, no trace of the million-dollar machine.
“Nico,” I call, my voice tight, “you saw a bike here when you picked me up yesterday, right?”
He leans against the car, shrugging. “Dunno. Wasn’t looking. You got a bike now?”
“Yeah, and it was here,” I say, panic creeping in. “Now it’s gone.”
“Maybe your dad took it,” he offers, his tone bored, like my crisis is a joke.
I rush to the front door, but the lock’s new, a shiny padlock mocking me. I circle the house, checking the windows, the back porch, even the overgrown garden, but there’s nothing—no bike, no sign of it.
My father’s cruelty stings deeper. Selling the house is one thing; stealing the bike I need to appease Cassian is another. I climb back into the car, defeated. “Take me home.”
Before I can shut the door, Nico grabs my arm, yanking me close. His grip is too tight, his breath sour with cigarette smoke. “C’mon, Charlotte,” he says, his voice low, taunting. “You telling me you don’t miss me? Not even a little?”
