Bloody Heart (Brutal Birthright #4) - Sophie Lark Page 0,96

damn it.”

I grab Seb and throw his arm around my shoulder, helping to hoist him up.

“I’m okay,” he protests, but I can tell he’s favoring his good leg.

“Let’s get out of here. I’m sure that old bird’s calling the cops.”

Seb and I hobble back toward the SUV. I’m heartily glad he drove it over here, because neither of us could run all the way back across the property at the moment. Also, if he hadn’t come in and picked up that bear, I wouldn’t have noticed the camera, or heard the bomb activating. First thing I would have known about it was the whole place exploding around my ears.

Too many close calls. I can feel my luck running out.

As we climb into the car, Seb says, “You better go to the hospital.”

“What time is it?” I say.

“Five forty-two.”

I’m all too aware that the last time something blew up in close proximity to me, I was late to meet Simone.

That’s not happening again. Not even if the whole city goes up in flames.

“We’ll just stop at a store,” I tell Seb.

“What kind of store?” he says.

I grimace.

“One with pliers and alcohol.”

35

Simone

I wait for Dante out in front of the hotel. I’m so nervous I feel like I’m going to throw up.

I spent over an hour getting ready. The pathetic part of me hopes that if I look beautiful enough, he might forgive me. I know it’s ridiculous, but when you spend your whole life trading off your looks, what else can you turn to in your most desperate moment?

I would do anything to go back in time and change the decisions I made.

But that’s impossible. All I can do now is tell Dante the truth. The whole, entire, ugly truth.

I left Henry with my parents. They’re playing board games.

I got Henry all ready for bed before I left, in clean pajamas, teeth brushed.

“Where are you going?” he asked, eyeing my dress, heels, and earrings.

“I’ve got to go out for a couple hours,” I told him.

“Are you going to see him?” he asked. “My father?”

I hesitated, then answered honestly: “Yes.”

“I want to come with you,” Henry said at once.

“You can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I have to have . . . an adult conversation with him. Just the two of us. But I think—I hope—you’ll be able to meet him soon.”

“I already met him,” Henry said, his voice muffled by the toothbrush.

“I mean, meet him properly.”

Henry spat into the sink, looking cross. “I want to come with you now.”

“You can’t,” I said again, more firmly that time.

I kissed him on the cheek, smoothing his hair. “Please be good for Grandma and Grandpa.”

“I always am,” he said.

As I walked toward the elevators, I heard the hotel room door crack open behind me. Henry poked his head out in the hall. I shot a look at him, and he retreated into the room, slamming the door behind him.

I hoped he wouldn’t say anything to my parents about Dante, but at this point, it hardly matters. I know they want to keep Henry a secret from the Gallos. But that’s not their decision anymore.

Dante pulls up in front of the hotel. He’s driving a vintage convertible—probably one of Nero’s—and he looks freshly showered. There’s a couple folded blankets in his backseat, the kind you lay out on the ground for a picnic, or a nighttime visit to the beach. He dressed up and made plans for us, like it’s a date. My heart clenches in my chest.

He jumps out to open the car door for me. I see he’s moving stiffly, like his back is sore. Still, he pulls the door open, stepping aside to let me get in.

As he climbs back in the driver’s side, I notice that his right ear is bright red, and so is the back of his neck, like he got a nasty sunburn, despite the fact that it’s fall. A white bandage covers his bicep, only half-concealed by the sleeve of his t-shirt.

“What happened to you?” I cry.

“Noth—”

He was about to say “nothing,” before he stopped himself. He doesn’t want to lie to me.

“I found out who’s been shooting at us,” he says. “His name is Christian Du Pont.”

“Who’s that?” I say, mystified. “Did Kenwood hire him?”

“No,” Dante shakes his head. “Actually, he wasn’t shooting at your father at all. It was Callum he wanted. And possibly me too—I’m still figuring that part out.”

“What?” This makes no sense to me.

“It’s a long story,” Dante sighs. “Basically, he blames the Griffins and the Gallos