Page 49 of The Don's Secret Heir

He flinches back from me, and I understand. It’ll take him a while to trust me again, but this is for his own benefit.

I walk past Dick, patting him on the shoulder, and he grunts. He doesn’t like me much, and the feeling is mutual.

But he likes what I provide—plenty of drugs and guns for him to sell on the side.

Giovanni waits outside. When I get into the car and shut the door, he pulls slowly past the cops, unbothered, and takes off down the freeway back to my place.

“What’d you take?” Giovanni asks quietly.

“Just a pinky. They’ll probably reattach it.”

Giovanni nods. “Maybe it’ll help him get his shit together.”

I shrug. “Maybe.”

I think the threat of losing his entire hand will help Armando stay on the straight and narrow, but I can’t be sure.

All I know is that I keep my word, and if I catch him stealing again...

Giovanni pulls up at my house and I get out, waving at him as he backs out of the driveway. I head into the front door and up the stairs.

Liana pops her head out, her eyes widening when she sees me. “There’s... there’s blood on your sleeve. Are you okay?”

“Fine,” I say cheerily. “Not my blood.”

“Good,” she mutters, and starts to shut the door.

I can’t help the grin that spreads across my face. “Li?”

“What?”

“Were you worried about me?” I ask her slyly, and she huffs out a breath, her cheeks flushing.

“No,” she spits and shuts the door.

My grin doesn’t fade.

Shewasworried. She’s coming around.

13

LIANA

God, I hate myself. I was worried about him last night, worried that he might be injured.Why? I want him gone. I want him dead for what he did to my father... what he did to me.

But then the only time I feel alive is when his hands are on my body, when he’s inside me. There’s something wrong with me.

I’ve been taking all the right steps, but I’m clearly still not over Dario Conte.

I’ve been hiding in Sonny’s room all week when I get the notification that Dario has wired me my weekly allowance—five thousand dollars.

It’s way more than I need since rent and meals are provided, but Dario believes I love to shop just as much as I used to back when we were together.

I mean, he’s right. I do, but I don’thaveto. I’m squirreling at least half of it away every week, biding my time so that I can get the hell out of here.

Because apparently, I can’t do what needs to be done and kill him.

Every time Dario leaves, I rush into his office, poke around in there, looking for something,anything, to prove that he killed my father.