Page 2 of I'm sorry, Princess
Not yet.
They break the door down.
Ten guns pointed straight at my head.
I stay seated.
I finish my cigar. I don’t flinch. I don’t blink. I watch them like a lion watches sheep.
Then, from the crowd of badges and bullshit, one of them steps forward.
“I’m Detective Ian Archibald.”
He flashes me his badge like it’s supposed to mean something. Like that piece of plastic will save him.
I stare at him. Cold. Unbothered. I know who he is.
I know his father.
I know his weaknesses.
I know more about his life than he fucking does.
Pancake growls, a deep, guttural sound, his jaw tightening. Milkshake’s eyes flicker with hunger for a kill.
“Down,” I command softly, and they obey, but their eyes never leave Ian.
He’s trying to be brave, but his hands shake just a little. He pulls out the cuffs like he’s doing me a favor.
“Lorenzo Giovanni Moretti, you’re under arrest for blackmail, illegal arms possession, and suspected racketeering. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.”
He goes on, reading me my rights like he’s the hero of this story. Like I’m supposed to be scared.
I stand slowly, towering over him.
I lock my gaze on his, my lips curling into a smirk that sends a shiver down his spine.
I don’t do fear.
Not for him. Not for anyone.
He snaps the cuffs on my wrists, but let’s not kid ourselves. I’m here because I let myself be here. I could end this right now.
But I won’t.
Not yet.
A black van waits outside. How fucking dramatic.
As I walk past the agents, hands cuffed, my dogs flank Bianca, their eyes never leaving me.
She mutters something in Italian under her breath, probably cursing Andres for dragging me into this mess.
I get into the van, my wrists cold with steel, but my mind razor sharp.
I lean back in the seat, smirk curling at my lips.
Andres, you better be right about this plan, or I’ll put a bullet between your eyes myself.
