The boys begin their plans, and I almost immediately start to lose track of what they’re talking about. It’s not that they’re deliberately trying to keep me out of it by speaking in codes or anything – I just don’t understand half of the people they’re making reference to, or the places, or the stra
I straighten my shoulders. “All right,” I say, serious too. “But you have to stop blaming me for shit that I didn’t do, and stop telling me to run away and leave.” “Well, I think that you’re beyond that now,” Nico says quietly as we both look over at Christian, who stands up straight now, folding
We walk for hours along the beach – long, languid hours, chatting about small things – the way the sand feels, the sea looks, how the sun feels on our skin. It’s only when I can feel myself burning – even under my stupid fisherman’s cap – that Christian drags me home. Even then I’m reluctant, though
We sit at almost precisely the same time, Christian putting a glass of rose wine in front of me just as I put a plate in front of him. “This is way too nice,” he murmurs, smiling at me, I think truly impressed and touched that I’ve gone through such effort. “I just made you stew. You’re showing me u
“I’m sorry, Iris,” Christian says, looking down at his plate and settling his hands in his lap. “You’re right.” My eyebrows go up as my spine straightens. Because, I mean, those are not two sentences I’ve heard very often over the past two months. Christian lifts his eyes to mine. “It is difficu
My jaw drops open because…I mean, still, how would he know that for sure? “Please,” I say, not getting it, putting the phone down. “You need to walk me through this.” Christian folds his hands on the table. “When you were kidnapped, Iris, they already knew that you and I knew each other from chi
“And it doesn’t hurt,” I whisper, horrified and fascinated, “that you already took the power from your father once.” My mind returns, suddenly, to how Christian got the Mafia King title from the media anyway – he’s the one who took over control of his family when his dad got sick – not his older b
“It’s necessary!” He says, starting to get a little angry too. I don’t think he expected as much protest from me. “It has to be done!” “Wha – why!?” I burst out, still staring at him, completely not getting it. “And why you!? Why do you have to do it?” “Why don’t you want me to do it?” He asks,