Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 132498 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132498 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
His words make no sense. Who would do this and why?
“At first, we thought it was the fire,” he continues, pacing. “But it’s so much more than the fire.”
My mother sinks into the couch. “Much more.”
My throat tightens. “What happened?”
He grabs a paper and thrusts it at me. I have no idea what I’m looking at. “Three shipments of steel are now missing. If that weren’t bad enough, clients are pulling orders. Partners are backing out. Investors are withdrawing funding. Our entire operation is on hold.” He drops the page. “And it all happened in hours . . .”
I stare.
But I can’t even form words, because that’s a lot to wrap my head around.
“And PR?” he snarls. “A nightmare. Anonymous leaks. False scandal. Someone feeding the press garbage that looks just true enough to stick.”
“Who would do that?” I whisper.
“That’s the fucking problem,” he roars, gripping his hair. “I don’t know.”
My heart jumps. “Dad, calm down—”
“Calm down? Calm down?” He throws up his hands. “We’re bleeding. Someone is gutting us from the inside out.”
Mom rubs her temples. “We’re going to have to sell assets.”
My father whirls toward her. “We will do no such thing—”
“We have to,” she snaps, voice shaking. “Unless a miracle drops from the sky, we don’t have a choice.”
He slams his fist against the mantel. “We are not selling pieces of what I built!”
I step forward. “Dad . . . do we have enemies?”
He goes still. Then lets out a harsh breath. “Everyone has enemies. But not any who would do this.”
“Could it be hackers? It could be a cyber attack.”
“This isn’t a cyber attack,” he fires back as though my suggestion is ridiculous.
I hesitate. Just a breath. A tiny fracture in my composure. It smells like corporate warfare, but why?
I breathe out slowly. “So what do we do now?”
My father sinks onto the leather sofa. “We’ll tighten operations. Cut spending.” He buries his head in his hands. “Fuck. I don’t even know.”
I take a slow breath, looking at him and then looking at my mother, who is currently rubbing her temples.
After a few more seconds of silence, my father lifts his head and meets my stare. “We will find the son of a bitch who did this to us, and we will end it.” He leans back, exhausted. “We’ll regroup tomorrow.”
My mother nods. “We’ll figure it out.”
But the silence afterward says none of us believes that.
She turns to me. “You should stay the night. Just in case we need you.”
“Yeah. Okay,” I answer, before I slip out of the room and head outside. I need some air after all of that.
I step into the garden without thinking. Once there, a tight breath leaves my chest.
This is why I hate coming home. This is why I stay away.
Because the second I’m on this property, it’s all about them, and what I can do for them.
I wrap my arms around myself. Everything will be okay.
It has to be.
27
Lorenzo
The Danforth estate looks smaller. Not physically.
Physically, it's still a monstrosity of money and arrogance. But emotionally? This place used to feel like a prison. A gilded cage I didn’t have the keys to. Now it feels like the beginning of a horror movie, told from the villain's point of view.
The beautiful part of my plan, though, isn’t the kill . . .
It’s how long I’m going to drag it out.
Torture them.
The gravel crunches under my boots as I walk up the drive. My steps are slow and deliberate.
I savor every step. This is my moment.
A full circle.
I died here, yet was born here too.
The house looms ahead, and while I was intimidated the first time I saw it, now it does nothing of the sort.
How could it?
I’ve gutted men.
Watched them gurgle on their own blood.
This shit is child’s play.
As I make my way up to the front door, I wipe my boots on their pristine marble step just to be petty.
A second later, a butler who looks like he’s two missed paychecks away from selling his organs opens the door. His eyes drag over me, hesitant, confused, and then terrified.
Does he recognize me?
“Mr. Amante.” He steps back quickly, spine snapping straight.
He knows who I am and is afraid. Terrified really. Good. Fear makes people polite.
I step inside.
The smell hits me first. I’m instantly transported to when I worked here, to the smell of old wood polish and expensive scotch.
Just the thought of working for these assholes has me wanting to rip out their skulls.
Okay, Lorenzo, there will be none of that.
Carving a hole in their head won’t give me the revenge I want.
I make my way down the hall, each step echoing through the marble like a countdown.
Her father’s office is exactly where I remember it.
I don’t knock.
I push the door open and step inside like I own the deed.
I will soon, after all.