Page 16 of Forgotten Sacrifice

“Everything you do is my business,” he informs me. “I gave you freedom at boarding school, and you couldn’t handle it?—”

“I can handle it! Give me another chance,” I plead.

Vince shakes his head. “You had your shot, and you blew it. Now, the leash is tightened.”

Narrowing my eyes at him, I say, “Love being referred to as a dog.Bow-wow.”

His lips quirk. “Glad that’s settled.”

“We haven’t settled a damn thing!”

“I’m your legal guardian. It’s settled because I say it is,” he says matter-of-factly.

“This is bullshit!”

“No, this isreality. A place where actions have consequences,” he informs me.

“Sounds horrible,” I snipe.

“It’ll be as horrible or as delightful as you make it. Now, can I get you something to eat? Kibble?” Vince’s lips quirk.

“Fuck you,” I hiss, but my traitorous stomach rumbles loudly.

He sighs heavily. “Luna, don’t get in another battle of wills with me. You remember how the last one turned out.”

Vince stands, and I begrudgingly follow him. My eyes somehow land on his ass—a nice and tight one showcased in those sweatpants—and I wish I could go back to hating him from the comfort of my dorm room.

We enter a fancy chef kitchen with all stainless steel and clean lines, and I have to rein in my impulse to smudge my fingerprints over the spotless counters. “This your house?”

“Yes.”

“I expected more from a mobster,” I taunt. It’s a lovely house, one I would’ve given anything to have grown up in.

He lifts a shoulder. “Sorry to disappoint.”

“No wonder you need my money so bad,” I goad him, trying to get under this man’s skin.

He smiles, but doesn’t take the bait. “Glad you’re feeling better. Nicky said you should start with bland food.”

“Bland food in a bland house with a bland man. Sounds…bland.” I take a seat at the kitchen table, and Vince chuckles, like nothing I say could ever rattle him. It’s beyond annoying.

He grabs a knife from the butcher block, cutting open a banana and expertly slicing it on a diagonal before tossing the pieces in a bowl and handing it to me.

“Thanks,” I grumble, popping a piece in my mouth.

“Yep.” He opens the fridge and returns with a sports drink, placing it in front of me. “You’ve missed this weekend’s tournament, which is going to set you back with your ranking.” I’m currently ranked Candidate Master, which isthree steps below Grandmaster. Threehugesteps of tournament wins at a certain performance level against a certain percentage of top-ranking players. “You’re under my roof now, and I’m not going to put up with that kind of bullshit,” he warns.

“Not a problem,” I tell him coolly. “We won’t be sharing a roof for long.”

Vince cocks his head. “How do you figure?”

“My birthday’s tomorrow.”

“And?”

“I’ll be a legal adult.” I point out the obvious.

“And?”