Page 55 of Ruthless Roses
“She’s brainwashed,” Chadwick echoes as if he’s a mindreader. “You and I both know it. It’s plain as day.”
“Very true. But my daughter is an adult. She is a woman with free will. I can’t control her.”
Chadwick scoffs in the same way I had moments ago. “That’s never stopped you before.”
“Do you hear yourself?” Damon snaps. His politeness falls by the wayside only to be replaced by a scolding glare at his son. “Your stake in this situation begins and ends at your delusion Delphine will want to be with you if she isn’t with Salvatore.”
“There’s chemistry between us! She knows it and so do I. She let me take her out to dinner—”
“That was years ago, Chadwick!”
“You give me time with her, I can win her over. I’ll even overlook that she’s had a child with that man. I’ll treat him as my own. We just need to get Mancino out of the way.”
“Enough,” I say over the both of them. I stand from my seat to pour another drink. “I don’t give a damn about Delphine going to dinner with you, Chadwick. That couldn’t be farther from my short list of asks. This is about her safety and well-being. This is about getting her away from a violent gangster like Mancino.”
Damon folds his hands together with a somber bend to his mouth. “Ernest, you’ve surveilled her for years. You’ve secretly seen her interactions with Mancino. He’s never hurt her, never mistreated her, never even stepped out on her with other women like many men in our world. From all the footage we’ve seen, he seems to treat her quite well. Your daughter is a smart woman. I doubt she’d settle for anything less. Have you ever considered that maybe he’s… not so bad? That perhaps you ought to give him a fair chance?”
“The fact that you have the gall to even ask that question shows me you have no earthly idea the type of deplorable, irredeemable garbage that he is. She’s beenshotbecause of him! Almostblown upby his enemies in an explosion. Takenprisonerby his father for who knows what.”
“Wasn’t she severely attacked in an alleyway by the same club you belong to?” Damon asks, frowning. “Isn’t it a bit hypocritical to blame what his enemies have done to her in revenge? Surely, the Neptune Society at least partially targeted her because she’s your daugh—”
“The difference being I’m not a criminal!” I shout over him, my patience lost. Who does he think he is coming into my home to lecture me?
“But, Ernest,” he persists, “somewouldconsider your—and even my—involvement with the Neptune Society to be criminal—”
“Enough! It’s time you get the hell out of my apartment. Both of you,” I command in a booming voice. I jerk a hand toward the door. “And don’t think about coming back.”
“Careful, Ernest. I’ve helped you countless times in this endeavor of yours. Don’t burn this bridge—”
“I don’t give a damn about any bridges. Get out!”
The father and son exchange looks before they obey. They get up and walk out in stony silence. I let the door slam shut behind them to emphasize my anger.
Then I spin around with heaving breaths that are a dangerous sign of my spiraling temper. I’m rarely one for enraged outbursts, but given the right circumstance, it erupts from me. I had kept myself away from others for this reason—deep down I sensed I was a ticking time bomb liable to explode at any moment.
The next time I was forced to confront what happened at that farce of a family dinner.
Mancino bested me. He beat me at my own game!
I let out a mighty roar that has the birds perched on my window ledge squawking and flocking off in alarm. I smash my fists into the wall and tear down the invaluable art pieces hanging from it. The glasses filled with brandy are thrown. Vases are shattered. Cushions ripped apart. Books torn in half. The doors of several stainless steel appliances dented and muscled off their hinges.
I go on a rampage around my eleven million dollar apartment and destroyeverything.
…until it’s just me and my erratic breaths as I drip sweat and shake with so much fury it’s unbearable.
I’m a man of means, set in his ways, who never loses. Who never backs down.
This won’t be any different.
It can’t be.
I stumble forward like I’ve forgotten how to execute my usual civilized, confident gait, and then I stop again.
On the floor is a framed photograph of Leontine and myself the night she agreed to marry me. The glass is cracked, but I can see her effervescent smile just as clearly—she’d saidyesafter only a few months of dating.
Our whirlwind romance was one for the storybooks. I had been doubted then too. I had fought an impossible fight to win her.
And I succeeded. I stole her heart away from the man she had been in love with.