Heart of Fury - Stone and Fire # 2 [17+]

Chapter 21

im so sorry ik u hate me

Aurora's POV

"It's a pool party."

The sun scorched across the black patio and thrummed a blazing fire across my neck, exposed by a slicked back ponytail. A ring of condensed water seeped into the wood under my strawberry-thyme lemonade, and Papa's brazen face lay sculpted with interrogative curiosity.

"This is the friend who's father works for Leopold and Li's?" The jewelry chain had bagged a market far larger than any other, and I'm sure my mamma sponsored the damn company by owning as much as buckets of their diamond necklaces.

"Yes."

"There will be boys there, too?"

Boys. The term Papa only used to pinpoint males under the ledge of 'mature' or, as we called them, made men.

I blank out. There's no way he didn't know the answer to that- he was just asking to make sure I was aware of the consequences if I did something.. compromising. 

He took a sip of water and set the glass back down. "I want the address and the owner's information. And you'll take both Matteo and Lorenzo."

My jaw fell. "Why both?"

"Only Matteo can kick Lorenzo back into shape if he bends the rules for you."

I couldn't argue with that. I'd always used my words to thread logic into Lorenzo, but with Matteo it was an immediate 'absolutely not' rather than, 'only for a good reason'.

I take in a small breath, but nod all the wise. "Okay."

"Ay, I'm going inside before I melt." Mama's hand stopped it's relevant job in fanning invisible air across her face, and she got up to her feet to slide back in through the glass screen door. The pancakes lay on my plate, half soggy with the amount of syrup I'd poured over them. I was usually a sucker for the liquid, but something about it today just didn't hit. It felt like the moment a fly would buzz around it'd stick to my plate out of everything else. 

Enzo was nowhere to be found, probably swimming in hard-earned grounds of paperwork and have no other urge but to slam his fist across a Russians mouth. He'd barged in from the event last week about as hot as Greta's spicy passata, and muttered something about 'fucked up foreignism making it's diabolical move on the Italian nation', locking himself up in his study without a word. 

Meanwhile I, myself, had half-dreamed the night. Mikhail's dominant stare at me from across the table, the fucked up words that had spilled out of his mouth and drew me back to reality, and a down-to-earth conversation I'd finally had the heart to voice out.

"Learn to fucking let go."

It was almost comical to me how even I couldn't administer my own advice. Whispers of his fingers inside of me kept me up ever since that night at the club, and I'd never once dared give into the ball of heat that conjured at the thought of my name tattooed on his hip. 

"Aurora."

Papa's firm voice drew my eyes back up.

"The younger one. He won't be there, sì?" His avoidance of Mikhail's name made panic shutter up my spine. 

Why would he be there? 

Unless of course, my attempts at shutting his seduction operation down had indeed failed, and he would indeed show up tomorrow night just to get on my fucking nerves.