Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 105734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
I close my eyes, giving myself permission to rely on someone else for a change. The situation seems hopeless, but there’s always a silver lining. I just must trust that Frankie will know how to find it.
CHAPTER 37
FRANKIE
I’m jacked up on adrenaline and not thinking straight. My fingers are itching to wrap themselves around Harlan’s neck. I knew it was too good to be true. This whole plan of sneaking into his office to get Danny’s files was bound to go wrong, I just never thought he would figure it out so quickly. Now Sofia could die thanks to our plan. At this point, I’m pretty sure I could murder Harlan in cold blood and sleep like a baby.
I tighten my arm around Sofia’s shoulders. Her breathing is shallow and I can feel the tension crackling through her body. This all brings me back to the first time I was held at gunpoint. I was with Marlena and Brandon, and our captor was none other than Carlo Andretti himself.
He took us to a warehouse where he threatened to kill all three of us. My father broke up that party, and I’m hoping he’ll crash this one as well. I thought I was clear that he should check my location through the watch he gave me, but as the minutes stretch by and he doesn’t arrive, I start to get worried. I should have been clearer in my instructions, but I know if I had laid out my plan to come straight here my father would have stepped in and taken over. I couldn’t risk Harlan killing Sofia because I didn’t follow directions.
Maybe he’s still mulling over what I said. Maybe he doesn’t realize how dire the situation is. He’s been trying to give me more autonomy now that I’m directly in line for the throne. And in the time, I’ve been working with his underlings, I’ve seen every type of crime other than murder. Of course this is different. This is my murder we’re talking about, and Harlan is in the perfect position to carry it out.
I don’t know what he’s waiting for. The last time he spoke he said he was going to kill us both. But then he didn’t pull the trigger. Instead, he went to the refrigerator and rummaged through it like a college kid home on vacation. He’s taking liberties with Sofia’s stuff and that enrages me. However, in terms of priority, stopping Harlan from eating Sofia’s food is way down on the list.
“What are you waiting for?” I snap, unable to contain my curiosity any longer.
“You’ll see,” he promises. He pulls out the bottle of OJ, somehow never dropping the gun, and drinks straight from the container. I want to tell him to get a glass, but that also seems irrelevant. I know he’s trying to goad me into doing something stupid. He’s disrespecting us in so many ways. I can barely keep track. I’m thankful that we have a few moments before whatever Harlan has planned happens. But I’m sure things are about to get a whole lot worse.
As if in answer to my question, there’s a knock on the door. Harlan waves me toward it. My mind is working a mile a minute. I can see all the variables in the room as if they are laid out on a drafting table.
Harlan is in the kitchen, and he has no way of knowing who’s at the door. Sofia is sitting on the couch, apparently in shock. There are only about five feet between us because the apartment is so small, but even that doesn’t put me close enough to seize Harlan’s gun.
I don’t know who is waiting on the other side of the door. It could be my father, but then why would Harlan look so smug? He must have called someone to help him finish the job. I wonder if it will be the cleaners who will help dispose of my body. I know my father has the contact information for a few of them. Maybe I can offer to pay them double what Harlan is paying to walk away.
But the moment I open the door, I can see it isn’t my father or the cleaners. It’s Carlo Andretti himself. I haven’t seen him since that day in the warehouse. He looks the same, even though it’s been some time since I last laid eyes on him. I wish I could say that he looks horrible, as if running from my father and living his life in the shadows was a hardship. But instead, he looks as fresh as a fucking daisy. He’s excited and well rested, wearing an expensive suit.
“Frankie!” he says, opening his arms to give me a hug. He’s acting like my long-lost cousin, not someone who has a vendetta against my family.