Book two of 'The Vengeance Duology'
Five years ago, the lads and I made the biggest mistake of our lives-a reckless decision that shattered everything.
We destroyed what mattered most, but my deepest regret is how much I hurt her.
Every moment of pa...
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We landed an hour or so ago. The boys left almost immediately for some meetings, leaving me and Jacques at home with my father. Jacques is downstairs, sprawled out on the couch, watching Netflix. My father is tucked away in his office, no doubt dealing with business.
I hate coming back to Sicily. The air here feels heavier, like it carries the weight of too many memories. Every corner of this place holds something—something I'd rather forget, but never can. But I needed to get out of New York for a few days, to clear my head. More than that, it was time to visit her.
I walk down the corridor, my footsteps echoing in the quiet. When I reach my father's office door, I hesitate for a moment before knocking.
"Come in," he calls, his voice steady, but there's always something under the surface—something I can't always read.
I open the door and step in. He's seated behind his desk, Phantom curled comfortably on his lap. I'd originally planned to leave Phantom at Emily's flat while I was gone, but my father has always had a soft spot for him, so I decided to bring him along.
He looks up, his gaze meeting mine. "I'm going to see her," I say, the words feeling heavier than they should.
He stands up, gently lifting Phantom off his lap and setting him down on the floor. The sadness in his eyes is unmistakable, an unspoken understanding passing between us. "Do you want me or Jacques to come with you?" he asks softly.
I shake my head, forcing a small smile. "No, this is something I need to do myself. For myself."
I can't bring them with me for this. It's too personal, way too painful. I need to face it alone, even though a part of me knows I might never be ready for this. But it's something that has to be done, and I have to be the one to do it.
He nods, his expression soft but knowing, as if he understands that this isn't something I'll ever fully get over. Some wounds don't heal—they just become part of you. I turn to leave, my hand resting on the cool metal of the door handle, ready to step away from this conversation.
But then he speaks again. "Are you going to tell him?"
His words hang in the air like a challenge, but also with a sense of care. "I know he hurt you," he continues, voice low. "But he needs to know."
I pause, my heart tightening for a moment before I slowly turn back to face him. "I will... when the time is right."
It's a promise I'm not sure I want to keep, but one I know I have to eventually.
I leave his office, the conversation pressing on my shoulders. As I make my way down the stairs, my thoughts are a whirlwind. I don't stop to think as I grab a set of car keys from the hook, not caring which ones they were.
In the garage, I press the button, and the lights of a sleek McLaren flash in response. I stride over, opening the door and sliding into the leather seat. For a moment, I just sit there, gripping the steering wheel tightly, my knuckles turning white. My breath feels heavy, like I'm on the edge of something I can't turn back from.
