Page 65 of Forgotten Sacrifice

“You ran a background on me?” I seethe.

“Don’t be so dramatic; I was curious. So the man who dragged you out of the club, he’s your guardian? I mean, damn. I wouldn’t mind being held hostage by him.”

“I’ve got to go,” I say curtly, hanging up.

Yanking the dress over my head, I toss it in the back of my closet, putting on my usual hoodie and skirt. It’s time I stop pretending I’m part of the rich girls club, because unlike them, I haveeverythingto lose.

“I’m working security tonight, and I don’t have time to worry about you,” Vince tells me. “That is why you will remain in my office and practice chess for the entire evening. Understood?”

“Fine,” I say, in a weird mood after my blowup with Olivia.

“What’s wrong?” Vince side-eyes me.

“Nothing.”

“It’s something. You’re being too cooperative.”

“Uncooperative. Too cooperative. Make up your mind,” I snap.

Vince chuckles. “And there’s my little ray of sunshine.”

“I’m not your little anything,” I correct him. “Why are you wearing an eye patch?” Not that the patch takes away from his attractiveness; if anything, he might be more sexy, which is fucking annoying.

“Some people find my glass eye unsettling,” Vince admits.

“That’s their problem; not yours,” I point out.

“What’s it like being the fearless Luna?” he asks in a bemused tone.

“Like Luna math, you wouldn’t understand,” I inform him, and he throws his head back with laughter. The man does have a great laugh, even if he is my archnemesis. “How is it you lost your eye? And I’m not confusing you for a friend, Vince.” I cross my arms.

He doesn’t answer.

“So you’re going for mysterious pirate. A little played out, but whatever floats your boat,” I taunt.

“Wouldn’t it be a ship?” he corrects me.

“Either way, I’d have already commandeered your vessel,” I inform him.

His entire body shakes with laughter. “You would’vetried, that I have no doubt.”

His phone rings, and he grabs it from the console, but not before I see the caller.

“Ciao,” Vince answers, and I can only hear his side of the Italian conversation with Aldo before he ends the call.

“Are you and your brother close?” I try.

Vince shrugs.

“Come on, tell me something!”

“Yeah, we’re close. I raised Aldo,” he admits.

“What happened to your folks?” I wonder.

“We’re not so different, you and I,” he murmurs.

Vince, sixteen-years old