a chair and leans into me, hands tight around my wrists. “Do I need to tie you down?”
“Lucas,” my uncle says in a tone that used to warn me when I was a child. It has no impact on Lucas, though.
“Because I might like that,” he says, eyes falling to my lips as he licks his. “Maybe you will too.”
“That’s enough,” my uncle says.
“Damian’s going to kill you.”
“Is that after you explain making plans to meet me. Getting into a car with me. I know how he punished Michela. What do you think he’ll do to you?”
“He wouldn’t do that!”
“No?”
“No.”
He studies my face curiously, then exhales. “You know what? You’re right. I actually don’t think he would.”
I stay in my seat, his comment unsettling, not comforting. Although I’m sure his intention isn’t to make me feel comfortable.
“I was right,” he says.
“Right about what?”
“That you have become a weakness to my dear, heartless brother. A chink in his armor.” He resumes his seat. “Now let me clarify some things here, Cristina. First of all, I haven’t lied to you. I’ve answered you truthfully. I am not your enemy. I have no reason to be.”
“Did you know I was out in the woods that day?”
“Did I know you followed me? Yes.”
“And you left me out there?”
“What would you have had me do? Drag you back to the house and lock you in your room? That’s my brother’s game.”
“Except that this isn’t a game. It’s my life.”
He doesn’t comment.
“Did you set the fire?” I ask.
He snorts. “No, I did not.”
“Did you help the people who did?”
“See, you’re not asking the right questions.”
“What do you mean?”
“That fire doesn’t have anything to do with you. That has to do with Damian. He needs to learn not to cross certain people.”
“Is he in danger?”
“Would you care?”
Would I?
“Are you ready for me to tell you why your uncle is here? Although, honestly, I’m starting to question his worth.”
I swallow because I know this is going to be bad.
“I’ll be honest, when I found out my brother’s plan, well, it surprised even me, actually,” Lucas continues. “It’s cruel, really. But maybe his twisted brain makes it out to be merciful.” He shakes his head.
I just stare at him, my heart racing, a sinking feeling in my stomach.
“Do you know why Damian married you, Cristina?”
I’ve wondered about this. About his answer when I’ve asked it. It seemed too altruistic for him to have done it to protect me without having something to gain from it himself.
“I know you received the bullshit about family rules and protecting you and blah, blah, blah and how noble would that make him if only it were true.”
“What do you mean?”
“Is he protecting you now? From me?”
I glare at him.
“The Valentina Foundation, the Di Santo family has become heavily invested. He wouldn’t want to let that go.”
“I don’t follow.”
“What are the rules, Cristina? Who inherits the foundation and everything that comes with it?”
I glance up to find my uncle watching me with that same look he sometimes had when I was little. I never could figure out what it meant, but I hated it. It made me feel cold and unwelcome and mostly just bad. It feels the same now, but I think I’m starting to understand its meaning.
I think it’s a sort of hate.
When I return my attention to Lucas, he’s watching me curiously. I school my features as best I can. This man is dangerous.
Both of them are.
Hell, all of them are.
“It’s just a charitable organization. There isn’t much for personal gain,” I say.
“It’s a front. I think you can stop lying to yourself about that part already. But I’m not interested in that right now. Tell me who inherits.”
“Firstborn.”
“Right. And when your older brother died, who was next in line?”
“Me.”
“And after you?”
“If I have kids, then my kids.”
“And if you don’t have kids?”
“Stop fucking around. Just tell her,” my uncle says as I swallow the lump forming in my throat.
“To whom does the foundation go if you were to meet an untimely end—or a timely one—and you did not have a successor?”
I look up to meet my uncle’s hard eyes. “My uncle’s line,” I tell Lucas. “Him, then Liam.”
“Unless you have an heir. Don’t you think Damian would make a good daddy? Although he does share some of what I wouldn’t consider Dad’s best qualities.”
My brain works hard to process, to make sense of what is senseless.
“No. You’re wrong,” I finally say, unable to come to terms with what I think