42. Thea
42
Thea
W hy had I spilled my guts to Milo? On what planet did I think that was a good idea? I wanted to stab myself for being such an idiot. Revealing my inner-most secrets had never worked out well for me.
Dar was the only person who’d seen what my father was like. I’d trusted him. Told him about my father’s plans for me. He’d promised to take me away from it all, keep me safe. But he had lied.
He must have played me all along. It was the only explanation. No doubt it had been Torrance’s idea. Yet another twisted learning experience, designed to teach me the dangers of trusting anyone.
Torrance had spent years telling me emotions would be my downfall. And as much as I hated to admit he was right about anything, he was right about this.
So why had I allowed Milo to slip through the cracks in my defenses?
I wasn’t sure. All I knew was that he had looked so damn vulnerable while telling me he’d never had sex with a girl. It was a shock, honestly. Milo wasn’t as confident as Landon or as give-no-shits as Kyril, but he was just as attractive. There must have been plenty of girls after him over the years.
Knowing I’d claimed his first kiss made me feel all warm inside. He wasn’t mine, but no matter what else happened, he’d carry that with him.
It didn’t mean I could trust him, though, even if he had kept my secret since the masked ball.
Telling him about my father’s plans for me was dangerous. If he told the others, they would put two and two together. Kyril knew what life was like in the mafia world. He might figure out who my father was, even if there was very little information out there on Francesco di Luca’s daughter.
If someone cared to dig deep enough, they’d find paper trails connected to me and Verity, and people in Dad’s inner circle knew about me.
The last thing I needed right now was Kyril going all caveman on me. He was already exhibiting worrying signs of attachment. Twice he’d helped me dispose of a dead body. And the second time… well, the less said about that, the better.
I could still feel his tongue between my thighs when I was having a weak moment. Given half a chance, I’d end up repeating the experience, which meant staying well away from him.
Landon, too. The pair of them were bad for me.
The only one I needed to get close to was Cassian, so from now on, I’d have to put some serious effort into finding out why my father was so damn interested in the Forsyths. Not that I felt bad about it. Getting to know Cassian Forsyth would definitely not be a chore.
Two days later, opportunity came knocking.
The lecture had only just begun when Cassian walked in and headed my way. He dropped into an empty chair next to me with a brief nod in my direction. This was the first time he’d chosen to sit next to me in a while. Not that I was complaining. Aside from being eye candy, I needed to get things moving.
Torrance had finally messaged me this morning. Not to ask after my health or check I’d made it home OK after our last little meeting. Nope. His only concern was that I be available for a trip to London soon. No detail. All he said was it involved Lucian Forsyth.
I hoped to glean some information from Cassian. I figured if I started a conversation, he might let something useful slip. It was a long shot, but right now, it was all I had.
I really didn’t want to head down to London with no knowledge of what I was walking into or why. Google lacked much in the way of useful information. Lucian Forsyth’s PR agency obviously approved every news story that appeared online, with any whiff of negativity extinguished before the fire got out of control.
To the outside world, Lucian was a paragon of virtue. A man willing to stop at nothing in his fight against organized crime.
Having met him, however, I knew the real Lucian Forsyth was nothing like the saint portrayed in the press. Monsters came in many guises, and Lucian Forsyth had all the hallmarks of a sociopathic wolf in a sheep’s clothing.
Anyone reading the weekend story in the Sunday Times on Lucian’s career trajectory would assume that the guy could do nothing wrong. Not only had he achieved a position of great power and influence thanks to years of relentless hard work, but he’d also hit the jackpot by marrying a woman of means with connections to the Royal Family.
One look at the photogenic Forsyth family posed against the sumptuous backdrop of Blackwood Manor was enough to make any normal person seethe with jealousy.
“Feeling better now?” Cassian whispered in my ear as the professor droned on and I doodled in my notepad. After twenty minutes, I had two pages of stick figures murdering each other in creative ways. Next, I drew a picture of an ax and a severed head with lots of scribbling to denote blood everywhere. Damn, I was talented.
“Much better, thanks.”
Cassian peered at my questionable doodles and coughed. Anyone else would have moved away immediately, but he just smirked once he’d finished trying not to laugh.
“Clearly.”
He reached out and traced the edge of a faded yellow bruise on my cheek. Feeling him touch my face so gently rocked me to my core. Cassian wasn’t like Landon. He didn’t dole out affectionate touches at the drop of a hat. He reminded me more of Milo. Not quite as touch averse, but definitely not tactile.
“It must have been bad,” he commented softly. “I hope you make them pay.”
Oh, I fully intended to make that bastard pay one day. I had a mental list of all the awful things he’d done to me, but revenge was a dish best served cold.
Torrance would get what was coming to him.
When I didn’t reply, Cassian settled back in his chair and made notes while the professor talked, but every so often, I felt him watching me.