Page 5

He’s unsure, but with an encouraging glance from me, he’s scrambling over the windowsill, calling, “Call me later, Phee.”
There’s a thud and a groan.
She runs to the window, looking out. “Who are those men? What are they doing to him? Carter!”
“Nothing to worry about. Just a few of my men letting him know he’s not welcome back,” I say, crossing the room.
She moves away from me as I approach. I close the distance between us, shutting the window. I stand before it, blocking her view of the boy on the ground below. Two of Liam’s younger brothers gather Carter up and carry him to the back of the waiting black Escalade.
She moves further away from me, pacing to the doorway of her room. At no point does she consider running. With my men outside, there’s nowhere for her to go.
She glances down the hall. “My family will be back any minute.”
She’s a terrible liar. “I don’t think so.” I know exactly where her family is right now. “I’ve given them the evening off from babysitting.”
“You know where they are?” she questions and eyes me. “Are they safe? Are they okay? What are you doing to them?”
“Nothing. They’re perfectly fine.”
“Where are they?”
“The Villa at Bachman Villa.”
Her blue eyes widen. “TheBachmanVilla? I know they said they were going to a place called the Villa, but the Bachmans’? Why would they be there?”
I’m sure she has some preconceived notions about us Bachmans—most do. I humor myself. “What have you heard?”
Looking at the ground, she stutters, “Y-you have branches in New York, Greece, here in Italy. Dangerous, violent. You’re some kind of…I don’t know…”
Unwilling to say the word, she shrugs.
“Mafia?” I ask.
The color comes back to her cheeks. “Something like that.”
“We prefer to think of ourselves as a family—a band of brothers.”
She drags her gaze up to mine. “What does any of this have to do with my family?”
“They’re discussing our arrangement.”
“Whose arrangement?”
“The one my family is making with yours. Your family owes me.” I eye her clutter-free room. Books line some shelves—all organized by color—her bed is perfectly made, the quilt's corners tucked in tight. It’s nothing like the messy space I’d imagined. “A lot.”
Looking uncomfortable, she shifts her weight from foot to foot, crossing her arms tighter around her body. Now, she looks as if she wants to run. I should let her go and find the woman who is truly at fault, but the mother would demand some deeper connection from me, which I’m unwilling to give.
“You know something about what your mom has done, right?” I ask.
“I don’t know what I know,” she says, shaking her head and looking away.
“What does that mean?” I wait for her answer.
Finally, she shudders a sigh. “I don’t know what she did to bring you here, but recently, I felt like something was… off.”
“Like what?”
“My school stopped offering scholarships last year. I’ve got a job, but fast food only covers enough for books and supplies. I was supposed to transfer to the local school for my final year, but a week before term began, somehow, my mom magically came up with the money. She told me she’d paid for this semester. Infull.” She stops her fast-talking to catch her breath, then shakes her head. “That school costs a fortune. How did she come up with that kind of money so fast?”