Page 24 of The Cost of Corruption
“Normally, I’d agree with you.” He turned to face me as he spoke. “But I’m guessing your father is a major contributor to your convent’s order. I don’t doubt he’s on the phone with them now, giving them strict instructions not to take you back.”
“He wouldn’t do that,” I protested, violently shaking my head.
But deep down, I knew he would.
It was exactly the kind of petty display of wealth and power my father was known for. It wasn’t enough to simply teach someone a lesson if they made a mistake. He had to crush them and then gloat when they returned, crawling on hands and knees.
I was certain it was what he wanted from me.
But after I’d spent a whole night with Matteo D’Angelo, my father’s sense of honor would be in tatters. It didn’t matter that nothing had happened—not really. This time, I knew the usual begging and pleading wouldn’t be enough to soothe his wounded pride.
In his eyes, the sin I’d committed was too great. He’d have to come up with some new way to punish me.
I lifted toward the heavens. “Oh God, what am I going to do?”
But it wasn’t God who answered—it was the Devil himself.
“You’ll stay with me.”
He kept saying that as if it were a real answer. Like he was some kind of hero, ripped from the pages of a romantic-era novel, swooping in to save me from all my problems.
It was far too easy to think of him that way.
It was how I’d imagined him all those years ago. At school, he’d been the strong, silent type. With those dark eyes and brooding continence, it was easy to cast him as a gothic hero in my mind.
Or maybe an anti-hero would be more accurate.
A New York Heathcliff roaming the halls of our private catholic academy. Quietly standing in shadowy corners, a shock of near-black hair falling over his eyes.
Back then, I’d sneak glances when he wasn’t looking and try to guess what thoughts were swirling around behind that mysterious gaze. I’d daydream in class, making up fantasies where he would ride in and sweep me off my feet, carrying me away from my rigid, overbearing father and into a life filled with forbidden pleasures.
Sure, the thirteen year-old version of me would have been over the moon at the reality I now found myself in. It would’ve been a dream come true.
The twenty-four year-old me, on the other hand? She couldn’t help thinking she was trapped in a terrifying nightmare.
One that was bound to end with heartbreak and bloodshed.
My father had been right about one thing tonight. It was past time that I put away all these childish fantasies and started dealing with cold, hard reality.
“While I appreciate the offer,” I told him. “That’s not a sustainable solution.”
“Why not?” His eyes locked with mine even as his fingers moved over the buttons of his white dress shirt, undoing them one by one.
Dear Lord.Was he really planning on undressing right in front of me?
“Um…I…” Damn my drifting thoughts, but it was really hard to stay focused as his chest, tanned and tight, came back into view. “…Because you are a D’Angelo, and I am a Costa. That’s why.”
“What’s in a name?” The corner of his mouth twitched, showing just a hint of an amused smile. “A rose by any other?—”
“Stop it with the Shakespeare.”
“Not a fan?”
“Not of that play,” I answered honestly. “Besides, quoting from Romeo and Juliet is a terrible argument in this case. They both die in the end.”
Which was precisely the outcome I was trying to avoid.
“True,” he conceded, finally shrugging his shirt off his shoulders and standing bare-chested in front of me. “But I don’t plan on dying any time soon, and I’m guessing you don’t either.”
