Page 30 of Jordan

“Sorry doesn’t mean you don’t get punished for what you did. It only means you feel bad for it, and apologies don’t do a damn thing for me. You’ll learn that quickly enough.”

Antonio, one of my main guys, is waiting by the opened back door. He hides his smirk behind his hand. Of all people in this world, Antonio knows I’m not one to mess around.

I place Jordan into the back seat of the Escalade and laugh when she scrambles to the other side and tries the door handle. As if I’d allow her to escape so easily. I get in after her. Antonio closes the door and gets into the front.

Jordan is banging on the window. I grab her arm to push her into the seat. She whirls and slaps me across the face so hard it stings. I suck in a breath as she freezes, those golden eyes frantic as she stares at me, knowing she fucked up. I snap my hand to her throat and pull her toward me. Her nails dig into my wrists, those eyes pleading for me to let go. I get close to her ear, and whisper, “Another rule you should learn, and learn it soon, is you do not put your hands on me unless I tell you to.” She scratches at my wrist, little whispers of words coming out of her perfect lips. “Touch me again, and I won’t let you wear clothes for the rest of your goddamn life.”

I shove her away from me, reach for the seatbelt and click it in. After all this trouble, the last thing I need is for there to be a car accident and her die because she didn’t have her damn seatbelt on. I get my own on and tell Antonio to get going. Jordan finally sits the hell still.

She buries her face in her hands the entire ride, crying and muttering to herself about how awful her life is.

No. Awful would be her dying.

Had she not pissed me off, I’d have considered giving her a relaxing ride by allowing her to get off. Give her a little taste of the benefits she’ll get from being my wife. But she fucked that up the moment she told me she wasn’t coming with me.

It takes about an hour and a half before we reach my private road that goes up the mountainside. The gate opens for us when we reach it, and we make our way to the top. My property is built into the mountain about 250 feet from the bottom. It’s a long way down when you’re standing on the edge of the cliff and looking over the edge. Can’t be too careful when you deal with the mafia. The only way people are getting onto my property is if they’re scaling the side of the mountain, that I highly don’t recommend.

When we stop in front of the house, I get out, move around to her side, and yank open the door.

“Out,” I bark.

She stares at the seat in front of her and doesn’t move. Doesn’t respond.

“You can get out, or you can sit in this hot car and cook. It’s supposed to reach 90 today. Do you have any idea what that means for inside the car?”

“Enough to kill me,” she mutters, turning her head away from me.

“Have it your way.”

I slam the door and turn to the Antonio.

“If she runs, let her go for a bit before you get her. If she stays in the car, call me when she passes out.”

I walk toward the house.

“Yes, sir,” he calls out with a chuckle.

She wants to test my will, she can test my will. Jordan doesn’t want to die. She’s only being dramatic because she’s a spoiled brat who isn’t getting her way. She won’t stay in the car longer than ten minutes, I guarantee it. And when she gets out? I’ll show her exactly what happens to brats in Vincenzo Bramante’s house.

Chapter Fourteen

Jordan

It’s seconds before the air is so thick it feels like I’m breathing in wool. Maybe a minute before I begin to sweat. Not dripping, but it’s there, coating my skin like an icky blanket.

Maybe another minute when the first wave of panic seizes my chest.

I’m going to die here if I don’t get out. My brain is screaming at me to get out.

Babies die in hot cars all the time. Dogs too.

This is dangerous.

What am I doing? I don’t want to die.

I’m pissed, but I don’t want to die. I really don’t. I just want to go back to my life. Back to my house with my father. This whole day needs a do-over. I glance around, noting the only person I see is the guy who drove us here. He’s standing a few feet from the front of the car talking on his phone. He’s about the same age as Enzo, but much meatier. The guy looks like a pro wrestler. Which makes me think he isn’t just a driver, but a bodyguard too.

What the hell does Enzo need a bodyguard?