Page 87 of His Son's Brid
I release him, step back before I do something I'll regret.
"This conversation is over. Go sleep it off."
"No, it's not over. It's just beginning." He straightens his shirt with exaggerated dignity. "Because now I know. Now I finally understand what's happening. My father wants my fiancée."
"Leo—"
"Maybe I'll tell Luca. Maybe I'll tell Aurora. Maybe I'll tell everyone at the next family dinner." He's swaying, but his eyes are sharp despite the alcohol. "Maybe I'll—"
"You'll do nothing." My voice drops to that dangerous quiet that makes grown men flinch. "Because if you go spewing this nonsense to anyone, anyone at all, I will destroy you. Completely and utterly. Every connection you have, every dollar in your account, every shred of protection the Santego name gives you. I will take it all away and leave you with nothing. Do you understand me?"
He stares at me, and through the drunken haze I see the moment he realizes I mean it. That this isn't an empty threat.
"You can't keep us apart forever," he says finally, but there's less certainty in his voice now.
"Watch me."
I leave him there, drunk and bitter and watching me with eyes that see too much.
He knows. He fucking knows something is happening between Aurora and me.
And now I have to figure out how to fix this situation before he ruins everything before he tells Luca, before he hurts Aurora, before this entire house of cards comes crashing down on all our heads.
16
AURORA
I can’t believe it’s been just three weeks of living under the same roof as Axel, and I'm losing my mind.
Every morning at breakfast, I watch him across the table. Watch his hands wrapped around his coffee cup and remember those same hands on my body. Every afternoon, I pass him in the hallway and our fingers brush accidentally-on-purpose, and electricity shoots through me. Every night at dinner, our eyes meet and I see the same hunger in his gaze that's eating me alive.
It's crazy…
The engagement situation continues. Leo's still drinking himself stupid, still muttering about his rights. Still watching Axel andme with suspicious, bloodshot eyes that see too much. The whole house feels like a powder keg waiting for a match.
And through it all, Axel and I dance around each other like magnets fighting their own pull.
Tonight, Dad's away on business. Left this morning for a meeting in Chicago with some politician who needs his palms greased. Won't be back until tomorrow afternoon.
Which means I'm alone in his office at eleven PM, going through the financial records he asked me to clean before he returns.
The numbers blur together on the screen. Shell companies within shell companies, money moving through so many layers it would take the FBI months to trace. A restaurant in Brooklyn that reports eight hundred thousand in annual revenue but pays taxes on sixty thousand. A construction company that somehow loses two million dollars a year but never goes bankrupt.
My father's empire, reduced to spreadsheets and lies.
I'm deep in a particularly creative bit of tax evasion when the office door opens.
I don't have to look up to know who it is. I can feel him, the way the air changes when Axel's in a room.
"You're up late," he says, closing the door behind him with a soft click that sounds too loud in the quiet.
"So are you." I keep my eyes on the screen, don't trust myself to look at him. "Can't sleep?"
"Haven't been sleeping well for weeks." His footsteps are quiet on the expensive carpet as he crosses to the desk. "What are you working on?"
"The usual." I gesture at the screen. "Dad wants these cleaned up before his meeting with the IRS next month."
"Need help?" He's standing beside me now, close enough that I can smell his cologne. "I've been cleaning money longer than you've been alive."
