Page 65 of Forgotten Sacrifice
“You ran a background on me?” I seethe.
“Don’t be so dramatic; I was curious. So the man who dragged you out of the club, he’s your guardian? I mean, damn. I wouldn’t mind being held hostage by him.”
“I’ve got to go,” I say curtly, hanging up.
Yanking the dress over my head, I toss it in the back of my closet, putting on my usual hoodie and skirt. It’s time I stop pretending I’m part of the rich girls club, because unlike them, I haveeverythingto lose.
“I’m working security tonight, and I don’t have time to worry about you,” Vince tells me. “That is why you will remain in my office and practice chess for the entire evening. Understood?”
“Fine,” I say, in a weird mood after my blowup with Olivia.
“What’s wrong?” Vince side-eyes me.
“Nothing.”
“It’s something. You’re being too cooperative.”
“Uncooperative. Too cooperative. Make up your mind,” I snap.
Vince chuckles. “And there’s my little ray of sunshine.”
“I’m not your little anything,” I correct him. “Why are you wearing an eye patch?” Not that the patch takes away from his attractiveness; if anything, he might be more sexy, which is fucking annoying.
“Some people find my glass eye unsettling,” Vince admits.
“That’s their problem; not yours,” I point out.
“What’s it like being the fearless Luna?” he asks in a bemused tone.
“Like Luna math, you wouldn’t understand,” I inform him, and he throws his head back with laughter. The man does have a great laugh, even if he is my archnemesis. “How is it you lost your eye? And I’m not confusing you for a friend, Vince.” I cross my arms.
He doesn’t answer.
“So you’re going for mysterious pirate. A little played out, but whatever floats your boat,” I taunt.
“Wouldn’t it be a ship?” he corrects me.
“Either way, I’d have already commandeered your vessel,” I inform him.
His entire body shakes with laughter. “You would’vetried, that I have no doubt.”
His phone rings, and he grabs it from the console, but not before I see the caller.
“Ciao,” Vince answers, and I can only hear his side of the Italian conversation with Aldo before he ends the call.
“Are you and your brother close?” I try.
Vince shrugs.
“Come on, tell me something!”
“Yeah, we’re close. I raised Aldo,” he admits.
“What happened to your folks?” I wonder.
“We’re not so different, you and I,” he murmurs.
Vince, sixteen-years old
