Page 72 of Dance of Thorns

You can’t pick your family. But showing up counts for a lot.

Chiara glances at her sister. Her face pales, and I don’t miss the subtle shake of her head as if she’s silently screaming “no”.

Chiara frowns as she glances at me again. “Maybe you could come back?—”

“It wasn’t a request, Chiara,” I growl.

Her throat bobs, then she clears her throat. “I’ll, uh…I’ll be outside with Dad.”

She shoots me a furtive glance as she quickly walks past me and out the door.

I stride over to the bed. “Can you walk?”

“I—yes. The bus only bumped me, thank?—”

“Good. Let’s go.”

She stares at me. “What?”

“You’re coming home with me.”

Her face darkens. “The hell I am.”

She gasps sharply as I yank the bedsheets back.

“You’re either walking out of here with me, or else I’m throwing you over my shoulder andcarryingyou.” My eyes stab into hers. “Your choice, little bird. And we both know I’m not bluffing.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” she breathes, glaring death at me, her voice tinged with something I can’t place.

“Suit yourself?—”

“Okay! Okay!” She stops me just as I reach for her.

Five minutes later, once she’s dressed, I’m escorting her past Cesare and his men and bringing her outside to my car.

“Bane.”

Sergey, one of my top guys, is waiting by the car when we get there. I help mycompletelyunappreciative fiancée into the passenger seat and then close the door before I beckon Sergey around to the back of the car.

“What’d you find?”

He holds up a folder. “Police report, taken at the scene while the EMTs were checking her out.”

“And?”

His brows furrows. “The bus driver claims he didn’t see who pushed Dove. None of the interviewed witnesses did, either.”

The niggling little spark of suspicion in my head blossoms into a flame.

She’s silent the whole drive back to my place, turned away from me and staring numbly out the window at the neon lights of the city whizzing past. It only dumps even more fuel on that fire crackling and snarling inside me.

When we get back to my building, I’m a wall of cold, silent fury as I all but drag her out of the car and inside. I’m aware of her glancing at me, a fifty-fifty mix of nervous and pissed off. I don’t say a goddamn word the whole elevator ride up, and open the front door in silence.

“What are you—hey!Get the fuck off me!”

I ignore her curses and attempts to hit me as I drag her into and through the penthouse. When she plants her feet, I turn and grab her around the waist, throw her over my shoulder, and carry her to the master bathroom.

I kick on the hot water tap in the big gothic clawfoot tub, ignoring the way she kicks and writhes as she tries to squirm free. She gasps sharply when I abruptly swing her off my shoulder, pin her to the wall, and wrap a strong hand around her throat.