Page 29 of Bound in Debt

I refuse to be locked down by an asshole who refuses to be faithful. God knows what else—who else—he’s done that I haven’t seen or heard about. I don’t want to know. I don’t actually care. Because the only thought in my mind is how to fix this. How I can make Liam take down the photo before anyone sees it.

“How many likes are on that photo?” I ask Ellie as Liam’s phone rings in my ear.

“Over three thousand.”

Fuck. My. Life.

Liam’s phone goes to voicemail, his grating voice filling my ears as he directs me to leave a message he probably won’t respond to. Irritation turns to boiling rage and I can practically feel steam coming out of my ears.

Liam can think he’s won all he wants. He can imagine that I’ll finally give in and bend to his will.

But I won’t.

I’m not marrying him.

I’m not becoming a Moretti.

End of story.

11

DANTE

“I’ll take a grande, quad, nonfat, one-pump, no-whip mocha at a hundred and twenty degrees.”

I stare at my nephew as he scrolls through his phone and rolls his eyes before tossing it to the table in front of us.

“And what can I get you, sir?”

A gun.

Liam is the most annoying little prick I’ve ever had the misfortune of having to deal with and now I’m tangled in a mess that my brother made for the both of us.

Are you really going to hang your brother’s only kid out to dry, Moretti?

My immediate answer is yes. However, when I really look at Liam, I see Marco clear as day. The same chocolate eyes, the same slight curl to his dark hair, the same prestigious nose—before I broke Marco’s when we were sixteen and fighting over a girl who’s name I can’t even remember.

My time to get the hell out of here is running out and this conversation will either change everything or sink me deeper into a hole.

“Americano,” I grumble to the waitress. I’m not a morning person.

She gets the hint, not bothering to ask if I want anything else, and flutters away with her notepad and pen while Liam leans back in his chair across from me.

He’s scared, desperate, and in need of help that his mother isn’t going to give him. I can either handle this shit for him or dump it on his ass.

“How did the rest of the party go?” I ask, my voice barely a croak. Sleep evaded me last night as I obsessed over what to do and how to keep my brother’s kid out of the mob’s business.

The only solution I came up with was paying the debt. The debt he can’t pay without involving Victoria.

“I didn’t find Victoria,” he reluctantly admits.

Good.

“You and your mother claim you want to marry her because of her trust fund.”

He hesitates, then shrugs. “Sure.”

I don’t know what that means. It’s the obvious answer, so why not just come out and say it?