“Are you sure about that?” Frankie considers this for a while then ultimately shakes his head. “This isn’t an argument, Lolita.” When he then winks at me, the pain and anger I felt when my mother died and he did the same thing makes rage blaze inside me. If I’m going to kill anyone tonight, it’s going to be him.
Unexpectedly, he strides toward me, eliminating the space between us as he gets in my face. All I’d have to do is reach forward and wrap my fingers around his neck. Frankie grins as if he can read my mind and is daring me to try, daring me to go there, be like him and everyone else in this world I was just about to run away from.
Layton shifts toward me, his shoulder brushing mine, either protecting me or Frankie, I’m not sure.
“You will do it or you’ll never see your father again. Alive anyway,” Frankie sneers.
I start to inch toward him, but Layton pulls me back. “Even if I agree to do it, I don’t know how to kill,” I say, painfully realizing it’s the truth. I can act tough, however I’m not a killer. Even if I found out Frankie did have something to do with my mother’s death, I doubt I could get revenge for her.
The room starts to spin, and I’m worried I’m going to pass out. Breath in. Breath out. I fight it, standing my ground while telling myself I’m strong, despite how weak I feel inside.
Fear. It’s potent. And I’m overwhelmed by it.
As Frankie reaches out and grazes my cheek with his finger, strokes it like I’m his pet, I refuse to flinch, move back, or surrender. “Do you know what happens to people who don’t pay their debts to me, Lolita?” Frankie asks, his fingers lingering on my cheek. “I put them in a safe and drop them alive in the lake so they slowly drown and have a lot of time to reflect on their pathetic lives.” His voice deepens, carrying the threat perfectly.
My stomach burns along with my temper, anger simmering under my veins like liquid fire. “Why…? How does my father owe you?” I ask cautiously. “It doesn’t make any sense.”
His lips slowly curl upward into a wicked grin. “God, there’s so much you don’t know about your own family. Yes, even I like to keep my daughter secluded from this world, but you…” He glances over me with a look on his face, like he’s just tasted something sour. “You’re so out of the loop. So naïve. So… clueless. He thinks he’s protecting you when all he’s doing is putting you more in harm’s way, just like he did with your mother.”
A thousand questions burn at my tongue. “I know more than you think,” I lie. “Even about my mother.”
We exchange a look and it’s at that moment I know. I’ve been right. There’s more to my mother’s death than a heart attack.
“If you say so, then I guess you do,” Frankie says in a condescending tone. In the elongated pause after his words, it feels like my entire world’s falling down, about to crumble out from under me. Although, it’s probably always been cracked since I was born, and I’ve been dangerously walking around on it without a clue as to when it’s going to break.
“Now agree to make the hit and this will all be over. You’ll be free to go.” He motions at the television. “Your father will be free to go, and you can ask him all the questions you want.”
I grow more and more wary the longer I stare at the trace of a smirk on Frankie’s face. “Yeah, right,” I say. “Like it’s just that simple. I make the kill and then you just what? Let me and my father go, unharmed?”
He shrugs, crossing his arms. “Well, you will be responsible for the kill.”
Fuck me a thousand ways. I am clueless. Why didn’t I realize this the moment he said it? “So that’s what this is really about. I kill Anthony and that pretty much starts a war between the Anelli’s and Defontelles’. That’s what this is about, right?”
“Maybe, but would it really even matter to you?” he asks. “Technically, you’re not an Anelli but an Ander.”
That’s because my mother wanted me to take her name, I want to argue defensively. It’s always been a sore spot, but now it’s even sorer since I’m not quite sure where my bloodline lies. Therefore, instead, all I say is, “That’s for protection, if needed.”
He cocks a brow. “You think that’s the real reason? Or did it ever cross your mind that it might be something else? Like maybe he knew you didn’t have it in your blood to be an Anelli.”
The letter flashes through my mind and stops any words from leaving my lips. Maybe I was named Anders because my father knew I wasn’t a true Anelli. Perhaps he’s known all this time. But then, why take me on as his own? Why not leave my mother when he found out she was pregnant or whenever she told him? He has a temper, and I can only imagine how angry this sort of thing would make him.
“So what’s it going to be, Lolita?” Frankie asks. “Live or die? Brave or weak? Anders or Anelli?”
There isn’t much to say after that. I don’t verbally agree to do it, though I don’t have to. I don’t really a choice in the end. Either way, I’m going to be responsible for a death tonight, so it might as well be someone that isn’t my father.
Chapter 3
After I make the agreement, Frankie orders Layton to take me into the backroom to give me details about the hit and to let me change into something more club appropriate.
“Where the hell did you get these cloths?” I ask as I rummage through the pile that’s on a stack of boxes. I pick up one of the dresses and notice that it looks very familiar. “Wait? Did you get this from my room?”
Layton shrugs as he takes out one of his guns and pulls out the magazine to check the bullets. He has his jacket off, his holster showing over his black t-shirt. “I picked some up while I was there getting your father.”
I turn to him, astounded. “Wait? You helped with my father’s kidnapping?”
He pushes the magazine back into the gun then puts it back into the holster. “I had to, Lola. I work for Frankie now and have to follow his orders.” He doesn’t make eye contact with me, instead bending down to make sure he has his knife tucked in his boot.
I clutch the dress in my hand. “Were you there when I was being shoved in the car? When I smacked my head and then was assaulted?” I’m flabbergasted. I’d assumed he’d gotten in the car later on, but now I’m wondering if I was wrong.
His attention snaps up to me, his eyes wide. “No, of course I wasn’t.” He starts to reach for me, but then glances over his shoulder at the shut door and withdraws his hand to his side, his worried expression shifting to neutral. “Look, could you just get dressed?” He looks down at the watch on his wrist. “We need to be at the club in less than an hour if this is going to work.”
“If this is going to work.” I shake my head, pissed off. “Who the hell are you?”
“I’m the guy that’s going to make sure you see this through to the end,” he says with no emotion in his voice. “Now get dressed.”
I narrow my eyes at him, hating that I can’t actually despise him. “Turn around so I can get dressed.”
He presses his lips together. “It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”
“Fucking turn around, Layton.” My voice is eerily calm as I struggle to keep the emotion out, the hurt out. If it had been any of Frankie’s other guys, I’d probably be beaten and raped by this point, so I should be grateful for Layton, however there’s too much pain from the betrayal.
When he doesn’t say anything but does what I ask and turns around, I quickly change into the dress, my fingers trembling the entire time. “There, you can turn around,” I tell him as I sit down on the boxes to put my boots on.