Page 87 of Savage Don

And so does this. Returning her to her father feels like another betrayal. Not just against her, but against my own heart, too.

I don’t want to give her up. Waking up in a cold, empty bed will be a sad price to pay for what this is all supposed to accomplish.

“Oh, my dear sweet girl!”

I instinctually wince at that voice. Of course, Sonia has to get her cries out above everyone else as I pull up out front of the old Galli mansion.

But even she has enough sense to tone down the theatrics for a moment, and let Domenico be the first to welcome his daughter home.

Hell, the stuck-up don even opens up the backdoor himself. I can’t say that I’m thrilled to see his greasy hands on my car, but I can wipe his fingerprints away.

What I can’t wipe out, is the filth he’s leaving on Francesca as he rips her out of the back of the car and gives her an awkward hug.

Francesca does not hug him back. She’s like a dead fish in his arms.

It’s almost enough to make me smile. If only Domenico knew how lively she was when I had her squirming beneath me.

He’ll know soon enough. I’ll be his son-in-law eventually, after all.

“Take her upstairs,” Domenico orders his guards. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, we’ve re-filled your room. It will be like you never left.”

Francesca is whisked away as Domenico’s gaze meets mine. How much of this lie he genuinely believes is hard to tell, but I’m not about to let him go back inside without answering a few questions.

His role in this part of my plan isn’t over with yet.

“Oh, dear, I’m so glad you’re home,” Sonia harps, moving towards her step-daughter with outstretched arms.

To my delight, Francesca sidesteps her phony step-mother, avoiding her attempt at an embrace. She even starts to run when Sonia gives it another attempt.

Without a word, my angsty little princess jumps behind the front doors and slams them shut, right in her step-mother’s flushed face.

“What are you so fucking happy about?” Domenico growls, clearly annoyed by the smile that has taken over my face.

“It’s not every day a lowly Irish street rat gets to rescue a princess,” I taunt him.

Sonia’s still standing on the front steps, desperately trying to play off the disrespect she just experienced. I revel in her shame. But still, when she starts to look my way, I tear my gaze back onto Domenico.

He needs to squirm more than she does.

“Where did you find her?” he asks, the fire in his eyes suggesting that he thinks I’m the one that’s about to get interrogated.

Oh, is he in for a surprise…

“They were holding her in an old halfway house by the docks,” I say, wiping a hand down my face.

“Who was?” Domenico asks, stepping right into my trap.

“A few local goons. But they didn’t know any better. They were just following orders.”

“Whose orders?”

“They worked for someone called Iskhak Artuzov.”

Before I even finish my sentence, I’ve locked all of my attention onto Domenico’s face. His response will tell me everything.

And sure enough, I’m given front row seats to quite the reaction.

No matter how hard Domenico tries to cover it up, the split second after I say Artuzov’s name is enough for me to understand that I am indeed on the right track.