Page 10 of Contract of a Billionaire

Her parents would come after me but they’d never win. She’d been mine from the moment we locked gazes. As if she could hear my thoughts, Autumn slid another glance my way. Hesitation. Caution. Fear?

Ironically, she stood with Cassio and Luca King, although she didn’t speak to them. Her wary gaze was on me and the two of them. Rightly so. We were all killers, shaped by our fathers and circumstances.

Another couple came up, murmuring their condolences. I didn’t even bother acknowledging them. All my focus was on the young woman with raven black hair and the strangest hazel eyes I had ever encountered. The girl that shoved me out of her room four years ago. The first person, never mind a girl, to stand up to me.

Soon, it was just my bastard father, Branka, and I, while Autumn, Cassio, and Luca stood to the side. Cassio and Luca already offered their condolences and they remained in a show of support for me.

I was certain Autumn remained for Branka, although she looked nervous. Her watchful gaze darted between me, my father, to the King brothers, and then back to me.

Good instincts, I mused.

She shifted from one foot to the other, her fingers clutching the red rose so tightly, her knuckles turned white. She wouldn’t approach us, I’d stake my life on it.

“Is it okay if I go?” Branka murmured softly.

“Where?” Our father barked so loud that even Branka’s best friend jumped.

“Go ahead,” I urged her.

“I’m her father, not you,” Father hissed but I ignored him. If the fucker didn’t die soon, I’d kill him myself. In fact, right now might be an opportune time since we were at the cemetery already. Push him into a grave and let him rot, like the damn worm he was.

Without a backward glance, Branka rushed to her friend. Autumn smiled at her and wrapped her into a hug.

“Want to come to my place?” I could hear her soft voice travel over the breeze. It was exactly as I remembered it. “Maman said she’ll have your favorite dessert. She’s buying.”

Branka nodded, while her lip quivered and she no longer tried to hide it as she did around my father. Even me.

Autumn’s eyes flickered and our gazes met. One fraction of a moment, turning into so many moments that made me wish to make her mine now. I watched as Autumn’s eyes changed from hazel brown to green so vibrant that I had to blink to ensure I was seeing it right.

Her gaze left me and landed on my father. Instantly, her eyes changed to brown.

Her eyes changed with her emotions, I realized. In all my thirty-five years I had never seen anything like that. The first time I saw her, they didn’t change so drastically, and I thought it was a play of light, but today, away from the safe haven of her bedroom, the change in color was more drastic.

Turning around and without any acknowledgement to any of the most lethal men currently in this city that stood in this graveyard, the two women headed away from us and towards the little beat up Volkswagen bug.

Meeting Autumn Corbin was the best thing that could have happened to my sister.

Me, not so much. Because the vision of that body in some white panties and bra was seared into my mind like a fucking tattoo.

Chapter3

Autumn

Ispent the entire night tossing and turning.

Branka’s sleeping face, smeared with tears, rested against the pillows. She slept in my bed, just like so many times before during our high school years. She even had her own room here, although she rarely stayed in it. My parents never allowed me to spend the night at Branka’s home. I could understand it now, but back then I didn’t. But my best friend never minded and preferred to spend the night away from home so it worked out.

Slipping out of the bed, I shuffled quietly down the stairs and into the kitchen.

My mother’s scolding look first thing this morning wasn’t good news.

“Maman,” I groaned before she could even open her mouth.

Her hands came to her hips and her brows furrowed even further.

I sighed. “Here we go,” I murmured. “Can I at least get a cup of coffee before we get started?”

I turned around and started working the fancy cappuccino machine my mother insisted she needed. Because she was a true French woman, she’d say. Personally, I thought Italians preferred to drink cappuccinos. But what did I know?