“Oh! Here! Before you leave.” Lucy jumped up and rifled through her bedside table, pulling out a small gift-wrapped box. “Happy birthday for the other day, girl.” She handed me the present with a beaming smile, and I grabbed her in a tight hug.
“You didn't have to do that,” I muttered, and she laughed.
“Whatever. Open it later. I'll call you when I see Finn next.” She smacked a kiss on my cheek then, surprisingly, on Austin's cheek as well before ushering us out.
“Who is Finn?” Austin asked as we walked back to his car.
“Lucy's PT,” I replied evasively, and he yanked me to a stop, narrowing his eyes suspiciously.
“I know that. But who is he to you? Why do you need to question him?” The scowl on his face said he wasn't letting this go without clearer answers, but I was nothing if not antagonistic.
“None of your business,” I replied, like the shithead I was, and watched as he ground his teeth together hard.
“Princess,” he said from behind clenched teeth, “I am trying really hard not to be an asshole because you've had a rough time lately, but you don't make it easy.”
“Oh now you care?” I challenged, for some reason really wanting to provoke him into an argument. Maybe because it was the only time I saw a bit of fire in him? Or maybe because I had determined that he did care and just wouldn't admit it.
For a long moment he just stared, his burning green gaze on mine, then he sighed.
“I've never not cared, Christina.” He dropped the tight hold he had on my arm and unlocked his car, holding the passenger door open for me. “That's part of the problem.”
Selfishly, I wanted to push him further but could tell by the tightness in his shoulders and the blank, closed off look to his face that I would get nothing more from him. For now.
23
VALI
Glass shattered and spilled everywhere as my father hurled a whiskey decanter against the wall in a fit of anger. Fuck, he was acting like a child.
“I hope you intend to clean that up,” I remarked dryly, cocking an eyebrow at his petulant behavior.
He turned back to me, his face a boiling red mask of fury. “How could you? You stupid fucking child! Seven million dollars! Seven million! Not to mention the fact that you have pissed off a seriously influential man.”
He had been raging on like this for a while now, ever since he’d seen the bloody mess of bodies in my garage and found out Kit had escaped. Thank God. I hoped she was okay; she had looked really scared when she ran from my property with Pierre.
“Do not fucking ignore me!” my father hissed and raised his hand as though to hit me, which I caught in a tight grasp.
“Never raise your hand to me again, old man,” I snapped at him, roughly shoving him backwards by the wrist I had just grabbed. He stumbled at the force of it and looked at me with a little less confidence.
“I think you forget which son you are dealing with here. I will not tolerate your tantrum any longer. You tried pulling a fast one by selling my new acquisition from under me, and it backfired. Now she's in the wind, and there is nothing you will do about it, am I clear?” I curled my lip at him in disgust. There had been a time when my father was the most feared man in the criminal underground. The original Romanul. But I knew the truth; that he had let the power drive him temporarily insane. After he’d murdered his own wife and halfway killed his other son, my brother, he had lost his mind, and I was left to pick up the pieces. At only fourteen, I had stepped into the power vacuum he had created when he’d abandoned his empire and bent it to my own will. Now I was in charge, and he had better not forget it.
“You better hope this doesn't come back to bite you on the ass, boy,” my father warned, regaining a bit of his composure.
“Well, if it does, it will be my problem to deal with. Now get the fuck out of my home; you know you aren't welcome here except for appearances.” His jacket hit him in the face when I threw it at him with disrespect.
“You're going to have to get over this pathetic grudge sooner or later, Dragomir,” he sneered, and I knew it was to deliberately antagonize me. Damn, it was working too.
“This pathetic grudge? You murdered my mother.” I ground my teeth together hard, rage boiling up in me like it did every time he picked at this wound. “Not to mention what you did to Andrei. I will never let it go, you vile old prick.”
“Oh, don't be so dramatic. That woman wasn't your real mother, and Andrei deserved what he got.” My father's scoffing tone made me see red. How dare he?
“Get. Out,” I hissed, low and dangerous, but the stupid old fool didn't take my warning.
“You know, you've been acting pretty strangely lately, Dragomir. Maybe it's time to pass the reins back to your old man, hey?” He smirked at me, totally oblivious to the tension coiling in me as I just barely held back from ripping his head off.
“I said, get out!” This time my message came out of me in a bellowing roar, startling even me and draining the color from my father's face.
“I'm leaving,” he said, backing toward the door. “Ungrateful, fucking child.”
Fists clenched, I turned to the window, not caring to watch him leave. My anger was still burning hot and seemed to be building more, despite the object of my fury having departed. The desert below me was calm and serene in the morning sunlight, but even that wasn't doing anything to help cool my emotions.
Throwing my glass against the wall to join the already smashed decanter, I stalked back up to my room and ripped off my clothing. Why am I so damn hot? My skin was burning like I was on fire and sweat was rolling down my face, but my mind kept escalating the fury I was feeling towards my father. It was all I could focus on.
Almost thirteen years had passed since it had happened, but the anger I was experiencing made it like it was yesterday. In my memory, the scene was still fresh. I had come home early from school after getting suspended for fighting with another kid. When I walked in, my mother’s screams were echoing through the house. Technically, my father was correct when he constantly reminded me she wasn't biologically my mother; she was Andrei's. But he was only two years younger than me, and given I had never met the woman who had birthed me, she was all I had. And she loved me.
My feet almost slipped from under me as I raced down the stairs to the basement, where I knew I would find them. Father had been “grooming” Andrei for years to be my second in command when we grew up. He was to be my enforcer, and supposedly, in order to give pain, he needed to understand pain. It made me sick, but Father assured me it was the only way.