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,
“This world, Iris,” Christian says quietly, his grey-blue eyes locked on mine. “It’s always going to exist. Even if my father died, and I and all my brothers walked away…someone would step up to take his place. Someone would take over, and get power, and start doing it all again.” “So, that someon
My mind races, wondering at the possibilities of this. Christian – he is good, I know it in my heart. But can he ever have that kind of effect? I flash back to where I was months ago, in the strip club, Bonetti’s guys leering over me and talking casually about how I’d been sold, about how I’d work
“Iris,” Christian says, his voice sorrowful, filled with apology. I feel his hands on my shoulders but I tear myself away. Because if he holds me, I know that I’m going to give in – that I’ll let him convince me – “No!” I shout, spinning and dropping my hands, livid. “My answer is no, Christian, i