Page 68 of Damián

I promised I would always let her know right before I lock myself in, especially since my phone has to stay completely powered off once I start working.

You can never be too careful when doing something this stupidly dangerous.

OLIVER: Got some snow today. See you in a couple of days?

ZARA: Enjoy, lucky bastard.

I close the message thread but keep the phone in my hand, my thumb hovering aimlessly over the screen.

Should I send Damián a text?

I stare at his contact name for a second before shaking my head…

Nah, that’s dumb.

I can’t exactly tell him what I’m actually doing, and texting him a fake excuse just feels weird.

Besides, we’re not really dating… It’s not like he’s going to spend the next few days worrying about me just because I didn’t check in.

I turn off my phone and put it on my nightstand just in time for Silvio to arrive with the drugs.

Once Silvio hands off the quarter-ounce and Martin has briefed the staff, I head down to my father’s office, praying for a quick in-and-out exchange.

I honestly don’t have the mental capacity to handle any of his shit today.

Unfortunately, Rafael is already there.

“You have a book for me?” I ask my father, dropping onto my couch.

“I do,” he says, actually sounding pleased.

It’s been a while since my last bender, so he probably has twenty separate nightmares piled up for me by now.

“It’s fucking ridiculous that you use work as an excuse to get high,” Rafael snarls.

“Jealous?”

“Why would I ever be jealous of a junkie who gets dicks shoved in the ass by men in parking lots?”

Of course, Franco told him…

I roll my eyes. “Oh my god, Rafael. Please, I am begging you to find a new insult that isn’t just about me liking drugs or taking it up the ass. If you keep this up, our business partners are going to realize you’re a fucking idiot with a severely limited vocabulary.”

Rafael’s face darkens as he moves closer to the couch. “What the fuck did you just say?”

“See? You are an idiot.”

Rafael lunges. He grabs me by the collar of my shirt and hauls me violently off the couch, pulling so hard the expensive silk actually tears.

My heart slams against my ribs in absolute terror. But the worst thing I can do around my brother is show fear.

So instead, I look him dead in the eye, and I laugh.

“Boys.” Elijah steps between us and hands me a thick gray notebook with the number 456-2 written in pen across the front cover. “The main issue is at the Civitavecchia port. Look at the new clause and figure out how to bend it.”

“Anything else?” I ask, snatching the book.

“If you have time, check the standard shipment problem on page 24.”