Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 68858 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68858 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
I shot him a glare, trying to ignore the heat creeping up my neck. “Why did you steal my car?” I demanded, my frustration bubbling to the surface.
Mateo laughed, a real, genuine laugh that caught me off guard. “Stole? More like recycled. I did something good for the environment.”
I snapped, “That wasn’t your decision to make.”
He grinned, completely unfazed by my anger. “Don’t tell me you were attached to it. Elena, you will be my wife. I would sooner cut off your legs so driving wasn’t an option than allow you to drive that disappointment to engineers.”
“Do you hear yourself talk?” I snapped, disbelief and anger warring within me.
Mateo’s grin widened, unfazed. “No, but I’ve been told I have a lovely voice.”
Mateo’s grin faded slightly, though the amusement in his eyes remained. “Shut the door so we can talk properly,” he instructed.
Without hesitation, I turned and kicked it shut with the heel of the wedges he’d left for me. The sound echoed in the room as I faced him again.
He laughed lowly, his gaze lingering on me. “I like this side of you, very cute.”
He circled behind his desk, opening a drawer with deliberate ease. From it, he removed a woman’s bag that made my breath catch. It was black and crocheted, adorned with various pins. Eva’s bag. I hadn’t realized she still had it.
Mateo dumped the contents onto the desk without a second thought. Condoms, lipstick, lotion, feminine wipes, blood-tinged cash, and a small black book spilled out in a chaotic mess.
“Where—where did you get that?” My voice was shaky, my mind reeling.
“So you recognize it?” His tone was casual as if we were discussing something trivial.
I stared at the bag, my heart pounding. “That’s Eva’s… But where did you find it?”
Mateo picked up the small black book, turning it over in his hands before circling back around the desk. He leaned against the front of it, his gaze fixed on me. “Do you know how many people died because of this? My men have been searching for it for months."
“I don’t even know what that is. What the hell does that have to do with your name on my father’s estate and my car being torn apart?” My voice was louder now, panic creeping in.
“Well, it was found in your car. Under the passenger seat,” he said smoothly, watching my reaction closely.
I froze. She hadn’t put that there. “I’ve never seen that before. Just the bag.”
“Don’t you think I already know that? Give me some credit," Mateo's voice was calm, yet edged with a certain gravity. He held up the small black book, his gaze piercing. "The issue is this little book? It’s caused more problems than you could ever imagine."
“I don’t understand,” I replied, confusion tightening in my chest.
“The book was in your sister's bag, in your car. Why would she frame you?” he asked, his tone probing as if trying to dig deeper into a truth I couldn’t see.
Anger flared up inside me, sudden and hot. Eva may have been many things, but she would never use me as a scapegoat. I refused to even entertain the thought. “Eva would never do that to me,” I snapped, my voice firm. “I don’t know what’s going on or what the fuck you’re playing at, but I want nothing to do with it. Or this.” I tossed the folder toward him. It fluttered open as it fell to the floor, the papers scattering across the polished surface.
Mateo clicked his teeth at me, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Your father would be so very disappointed to hear that," he remarked, the words cutting deeper than I expected. And he knew it.
I swallowed hard; my throat suddenly dry. That comment had more of an effect on me than it should have, and he could see it in the way my resolve faltered for a moment.
"Does that bother you, Elena?" he asked, his voice almost a purr. "Letting your pai down?" The way he said the word in Portuguese made it feel more intimate and more personal. He sighed, glancing down at the scattered papers. "I'll help you with those daddy issues. Along with finding your sister."
I clenched my jaw, forcing myself to hold his gaze. "I don’t have daddy issues," I said firmly, the words tasting bitter on my tongue. It was a lie, and we both knew it, but I wasn’t about to hand him that power over me. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing just how deep that wound ran.
I had been a daddy’s girl through and through—he was my hero, the one person I thought would always be there for us. When he sent us away with a promise of coming for us soon, I believed him. Then came the radio silence and eventually, the night Aunt Molly broke down in the kitchen with me when I learned he and my mother were dead.