Page 71 of Bound in Debt

“Nothing.”

“Victoria…” he warns, unwilling to accept the same non-answers he insists on giving me. “You can’t expect me to believe that you’re just going to gallivant around Paris without a plan.”

“I have a plan.”

“And what’s that?”

“Nothing that you need to worry about.”

“I’m worried as shit about it.”

He’s not.

And he won’t get me to believe that he is, either—ever.

“When this is all over, I’m going to make sure you’re okay before I leave,” he vows simply, undeterred by my silence.

“I don’t believe you.”

“How should I prove my loyalty, princess? I already saved you twice. What more could you possibly need?”

“For you to not need me,” I answer honestly. “To know that I’m not some pawn you can use to get out of a situation I had nothing to do with.”

“I don’t need you, princess, that’s the thing,” he divulges softly, cupping my cheek with his hand. “I have a passport. I could’ve gotten out of here and gone back to Italy, no problem. But I stayed. I stayed because I didn’t want to see an innocent girl get bogged down in mob shit that she had no part in. I know what happens to loose ends, what happens to the women involved on either side of these things. I don’t want that to happen to you.”

“Why?” I can’t help but ask. “You can’t stand me.”

“I can tolerate you.”

I bristle a bit at that. “You may have made the wrong choice, Dante. My trust fund can’t get us out of this. Not all the way. Not without…”

“I have an idea for the last two million. We have a month. In the meantime, I’ll work for Angelo to keep him off our?—”

“No,” I blurt out. I don’t want to see him hurt or arrested. And now Dante knows just how twisted up I am over him. “You can’t.”

“I’ve been in a mob before, princess. I told you?—”

“You don’t know this man,” I retort. “He could pin you for something. He could use you as a scapegoat. I don’t want that.”

“Something has to give, Victoria. I can’t expect him to wait around forever. Angelo was furious when he found out that you tried to get a new identity. He has eyes on us.”

Defeat falls over me again, a suffocating blanket. I messed up and there’s no denying that.

“Tell me what you’re going to do in Paris.”

I roll my eyes and sigh but I continue to stare at his chest. “The real dream is to eventually open my own bakery.”

“How? Aren’t you majoring in music at Thronewood?”

“I am. But I’m minoring in business, taking as many classes in that department as I can. My mother and father don’t know. Thronewood has great programs for both. And I’m also going to the local community college. Graham has a solid culinary program and I’m learning the fundamentals before I can get to Paris and find a pastry school.”

“That explains why you’d appreciate a good knife.” He chuckles.

“What?”

He shakes his head. “Never mind. How do you manage to get to all those classes? I’ve never seen you?—”

“I’ve managed to basically split my schedule. I pretty much only take morning classes at Thronewood and I cut a deal with the registrar at Graham to make sure I get the first crack at all the afternoon and evening classes there?—”