Page 143 of Flawed

He still doesn't move.

I count, "Three. Two."

"Fuck you. And you'll pay for holding a gun to my head." He caves and then slides into the SUV.

He gives the address to her house. The driver pulls out.

I memorize it and question, "How do you know her address so well?"

A fresh scowl appears. He answers, "That's not really your concern, is it?"

A new realization washes over me. I clench my fists at my sides, seething, "Are you with Chanel?"

Disgust fills his expression. "What are you talking about? You know I'm with Katiya."

I continue to stare at him, unsure if he's lying.

He adds, "I don't screw those I employ."

"Employ?" I question.

"She's my flight attendant."

I shake my head, declaring, "Barbara is your flight attendant."

He scoffs. "No, she isn't. Barbara fills in for Chanel when needed. Chanel is my flight attendant, you dickhead."

I grunt. "Well, how was I supposed to know that?"

He retorts, "Apparently, there's a lot you don't know, because Chanel seems to hate you, but you're acting like you're in shock. And I know you're not dumb, Luca. So what the fuck is going on here?"

I once again ignore answering him and question, "What's her relationship with Pierre Gagnon?"

"He's her father."

"What are you talking about? Her last name is Moulin," I reply.

Massimo shakes his head, as if he can't believe how stupid I am.

"What?" I question.

He sighs then states, "Pierre uses Gagnon, so nobody knows who his wife and Chanel are. He's done it since they were in Italy. It was to protect them."

It's another piece of the puzzle I didn't understand all these years. I often wondered why Chanel hated the Abruzzos so much. I could never figure out her affiliation to the Marinos besides that she was Pina's friend.

For the rest of the ride, we sit in silence. The driver pulls up to a building. Massimo nods at security, and they don't even check identification.

My jealousy spikes again. I inquire, "Why does security seem to know you if Chanel's only your flight attendant?"

We step into the elevator. He punches in a code and crosses his arms. "I own this building, moron."

"Enough with the name-calling," I threaten.

He mutters, "If she tries to kill you, I might let her."

Enough is enough. I spin and push him against the wall. "What's your problem, man?"

He grits his teeth, claiming, "You've obviously done something to her. I'm pretty sure I know what, but I want to hear it from you."

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