Page 72 of Savage Empire
“What?” Elio asks, the word coming out dark and confused.
“Ever since Melani bagged a Moretti husband, her evil bitch of a “mother” has been forcing her to get plastic fucking surgery to look more like you. Foryears.She tells her it’s the only way she’ll bag a proper husband like you did, and she’s convinced her dumbass husband that all the work is Sienna’s idea. That she wants to have a new nose, cheek filler, and body modifications too. She has to dye her hair, wear contacts, and your fuckingfacenow. Your body too. She’ll never be able to breastfeed her future children because of complications with her boob job by the way.”
You could hear a pin drop at the Moretti dinner table.
“That house is a hell that even you couldn’t imagine, because you didn’t get even a taste of the true abuse she faces,” I continue venomously. “And still, youknew.You knew the way your mother picked and prodded at her. You knew the way she treated her, and here I am finding out you never even tried to get her out. Matteo didn’t even know she existed, and from what Yordan says, he knows everyone! You could have told your husband, asked him to get her out, and you didn’t!”
“Is this true?” Dante asks, eyes dark and thunderous.
“Elio has been checking in on her for years, and she hasn’t said a word to him about how bad it really is there. She hasn’tsaid a word because she doesn’t want to burden this family, or her own. She’s been permanently altered by them, and she won’t tell Elio because she still loves her parents enough to not want them dead.”
“Nico, let’s go,” Elio barks, standing up from the table with a violent push. His chair stumbles behind him.
“Nico?” Melani gasps. “Do not hurt my family, Elio!”
“Get fucked, Melani,” he growls in return. “I’m not going to slaughter them becausesheasked. But the fact that you care more about the state of their well-being than hers makes me wish I could disregard her wishes entirely.”
“I’ll call Abramo. Do not land in his territory without my text confirming you’re free to,” Apollo says, voice clipped.
“Got it.”
“Well.” Dante clears his throat. “I believe dinner has run its course. Feel free to finish up at the table or in whatever room you’d prefer. I’m going to make a few calls.”
Melani excuses herself from the table without a word, and I drop down onto my seat, exhaling loudly.
Calling her out wasn’t nearly as satisfying as I expected it to be. What the hell have I done?
Chapter Twenty
Rayna
The crowded dinner table quickly becomes scarce after Emilio storms off after his wife. I don’t know whether he’s upset with her, or pissed off at me for insulting her.
“Try not to reveal any more closely held secrets while I’m gone,” Apollo says sharply, phone in hand. He glances at me with something akin to hurt in his eye before leaving the dining room.
“Rayna,” Yordan starts, sounding hesitant.
“I need to call Sienna,” I say, cutting off anything else he might have to say. “I’ll be back.”
“Come on,” Javier encourages, clapping Yordan on the back. “We can go outside. Armani has a shooting range set up. We’ll escape the awkwardness with good old fashioned gunfire.”
I don’t have the energy or the focus to warn him about being careful. I’m too occupied removing myself from the table and beginning to search for a quiet, unoccupied room. My hands shake as I open Sienna’s contact, teeth capturing my bottom lip in a nervous bite.
Typing frantically, I blindly step into a small sitting room, shutting myself inside.
Rayna
Is this the right number for Rachel? My friend says you take emergency hair appointments.
Rachel, same fake name as usual. And emergency hair appointment, our code phrase for needing a quick call. An urgent call.
We’ve rarely used this method in the past, but the circumstances seem to fit this time around. I need to warn her that Elio is coming, but mostly, I need to apologize profusely and hope that she can forgive me one day.
My phone vibrates in my hand, and I suck in a breath, seeing that she’s calling. Clearing my throat, I prepare to answer cryptically in case someone has found her secret stash of contraband.
“Rachel?” I ask, attempting to sound chipper. “Please tell me you can fit me in for a bleach and tone.”
“Regina,” her soft voice returns over the line. “My best client.” A sweet giggle follows, and I breathe out, relieved to know she’s safe and available to talk.
