Page 9 of The Bonventi Secret

Squinting against the harsh lights, I spot a familiar silhouette.

Gabriel.

My stomach twists. He stands there, stiff as a board, his usual swagger nowhere to be seen. As I approach, I notice the circles around his eyes. Whatever's going on, it's bad enough to rattle even him.

"Livia," he calls to me again, his voice strained. He opens his arms for a hug.

We embrace, but it feels all wrong. His arms are too tight, his body too tense.

"What the fuck is going on, Gabriel?" I hiss into his ear.

"How was your flight?" he asks as we pull apart. "Studies going well?"

I shrug it off and grit my teeth. "Cut the shit, Gabriel. Why am I here?"

He forces a smile. "Can't a brother want to see his sister?"

"Not when said brother tells me I have one hour to be ready, no options, sends a private jet, and an army of suits to 'escort' her," I snap. "What's going on?"

Gabriel's eyes dart around, never quite meeting mine. "Let's talk in the car, okay? It's cold out here."

I shake my head. "No. Tell me now."

A muscle twitches in his jaw. "Livia. Not here."

"Then where?" I yell out. "You drag me across the country in the middle of the night, with a fucking chaperone, might I add, and you won't even tell me why?"

He looks at me. I can see anger rising in his eyes, but it quickly subsides.

"The car, now," he says and turns, walking away.

I sigh and follow him. "Fucking cryptic bullshit," I say under my breath. I know Gabriel hears me, but he pretends not to.

I follow him around the corner, and the car he's referencing is actually a sleek black limousine, its windows tinted black, reflecting all the light around us.

Gabriel opens the door and gestures for me to get in. I look to my left and see my chaperone carrying my suitcase toward us. I stand still, thinking about just saying fuck it and running.

But who am I kidding? Where would I go? I've come this far.

“Please just get in the damn car, Livia," Gabriel says, his patience wearing thin.

I slide into the limo. The leather is cool against my hands as I shift across the long black cushion. Gabriel jumps in, and the man with my suitcase slams the trunk shut, comes around, and nods to my brother.

"Mr. Falcone, sir," he says and closes the door.

I glance toward the front of the limo, noticing the driver for the first time. He's a statue, silent and imposing, his eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses despite the late hour. It strikes me as odd that he didn't get out to open the door.

The car starts to move, and there's a silence between us that I've hardly ever experienced. I stare out the window, breathing heavily, trying to calm myself down. I sneak a peek over my brother, who's playing with his cufflinks, something he does subconsciously when he's nervous. I'm not even sure he knows I know about it, but it pushes me to break our quiet drive.

"Well?" I turn fully to him. "Are you going to tell me what’s going on, or do I have to guess?"

Gabriel leans back in his seat, attempting to relax. "How's your dissertation coming along? Still diving deep into the Victorian macabre?"

I shoot him a glare. "Seriously? You want to talk about my dissertation right now instead of answering my questions?"

He sighs, suddenly looking much older than his 35 years. "Livia, I?—"

"Don't 'Livia' me," I interrupt, my voice rising. "You drag me out here in the middle of the night, surrounded by suits and privatejets, and now this limo? What, are we in some B-grade mafia movie?"