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“The very last thing you should do is lie to me, Penelope.”
My shoulders sagged. “I tried to call his bluff. I said my father—his son—would never allow him to do this to me. And he…” I sucked in another deep breath. “He said my father would kill me if my grandfather instructed him to. That his loyalty was with the Niccolò Cartel.”
“Your father; the Clyde you spoke of previously?”
“Yes.”
He nodded. “And what about your mother?”
“He didn’t mention her, and neither did I. At that point in our argument, I was too drained to say anything more.”
“You believed him?”
“I didn’t want to, but the possibility was there.”
“So, I should kill your father then?”
My eyes widened. “No. No.” I shook my head. “Dominic, please. You’ve done enough. I don’t want you involved in any more murders.”
A dark, twisted, sinister laugh escaped him, and I shivered.
“I gave you the option to leave. Why didn’t you take it?”
“I told you why.” I hesitated. “Do you want me to go?”
Silence filled our space, and he took a few more steps into the room. My eyes crawled over the way his crew-neck shirt fit his muscular frame. The all-black attire fit him like it was made for him, and I wanted more than anything to run into his arms.
“Are you afraid of me now?”
I frowned and whispered, “No.”
“Then why are you standing by the door, as if you wish to exit?”
I glanced at the open door, grabbed the frame, closed it behind me, and walked toward him.
We were mere inches in front of each other. And I could feel his dark energy radiating off him.
“I’m not afraid of you, Professor Lucas.” His dark gaze softened. “Are you afraid that I am an enemy of yours because of what you’ve found out tonight?”
“Are you?”
My heart broke a little. I could feel the squeeze in my chest and almost lost my breath.
“No. Never.”
“We have a problem, Penelope.”
“Which is what?”
We stared at each other, and I could tell he considered his next words before speaking them. “I’m in love with you.”
My eyes widened, and tears sprang from my eyes. My body trembled, and I sucked in my cries to respond. “That’s not a problem. That’s not a problem!” I repeated.
“It is.”
“Why?”
“My father said there’s no room for love in the dark, twisted corridors of my soul.”
