Page 61 of Broken Pieces
To: Damian Romano
Subject: None
You need to fire Aria Petrov. There will be consequences if you don’t.
What the fuck?
My phone rings, and Matteo’s name shows up on the screen. I don’t hesitate to pick it up.
“I just saw the email,” Matteo says from the other line.
I thin my lips as I close my eyes, trying to keep myself together and not let the rage that’s slowly simmering take over.
“I’m already tracing the email, relax,” Matteo continues, somehow sensing my rage brewing.
“Do you think this is related to the break-in?”
“I don’t doubt it. Who the hell did you piss off?” Matteo asks with a hint of amusement in his voice that ticks me off.
“How much time do you have?” I retort, gritting my teeth. I’m a fucking billionaire in a cut-throat business. I have enemies coming out of my fucking ears.
“I will keep you posted,” Matteo says before hanging up.
Who the fuck is doing this? But more importantly, why? Is it another gallery that maybe wants her on their team? I don’t think she has gotten any other offers, but even if she did, she wouldn’t take one.
Or would she?
No. No way.
As I’m brewing in my thoughts, my email pins with another encrypted email notification.
From: Unknown
To: Damian Romano
Subject: None
You have a week to meet my demand, otherwise, you can sit and watch the consequences of your own stupid actions.
As I’m reading the email, Aria comes out of her bedroom. My back stiffens and I snap the laptop shut with a little more force than necessary.
“You okay?” Aria asks as she approaches me.
I look back at her. “Uh, yeah. Why?”
She holds my gaze for a moment as she dries her hair with a towel, then shrugs and sits next to me. She can’t find out what’s happening. She’s going to want to get involved and I just have this gut strange feeling I can’t pinpoint, but all I know is that I want her as far as possible from this situation.
Before she can drill me with more questions, the food arrives and we sit down and open all the boxes. I definitely ordered way too much, but better be safe than sorry.
“You’re so extra. A bacon pizza would have been fine,” she grabs a slice and takes a bite, “but thank you.”
“Well, what if you preferred pepperoni? Or veggies? I didn’t want to risk it,” I shrug, picking a piece of my own and biting into the cheesy, bready savoriness.
She swallows her bite before replying, “I hate pepperoni.”
“Wow.” My eyebrows shot up in surprise. “I think you may be the only person in the world that hates pepperoni.”
She shrugs. “It’s disgusting. Don’t ask me why, because there’s no rhyme or reason for my hate for it. I hate the taste, and it’s so greasy.”
