Chapter 4

ESME

"You want this more than I do."

I hate that he said it. I hate even more that it’s the truth. I don’t just want him; I’m addicted to the way he ruins me. It’s a sick cycle.

This didn't start today. It started five years ago, when I was nineteen and he was thirty.

I was in my reckless phase—stubborn, bitter, and fresh off a heartbreak from the last guy I ever bothered to call a boyfriend. I had gone out, gotten trashed, and caused enough trouble that Lorenzo had to come pick me up.

I remember the ride back. I was screaming, punching his shoulder, blaming him for everything wrong in my life. By the time we got into the house, I was burning up—partly from the alcohol, partly from the rage. I started peeling off my clothes right there in the living room until I was just in my bra and panties, daring him to look and acting like a madwoman.

He had tried to stop me. Just once. He said "Stop" in that low, commanding voice of his, but when I didn't, he didn't try again.

He just sat down in his favorite leather chair, elbow on the armrest, head resting on his hand.

He had a look on his face that said “I can't deal with this shit today, fuck it,” letting me be as loud and as naked as I wanted. That was the night the "Uncle" persona died.

I mean, it has died since, but... damn, it's a long story.

But that was the night he stopped being the man who protected me and became the man I needed to be protected from.

"Esme. Focus."

Julian's voice snaps me back to the present.

It's evening so fast.

"I thought you hung up," Julian says. He sounds worried. "I'm almost at the gate. Is everything okay?"

I close my eyes, my heart thumping against my ribs. I look at the red dress, then at the door where I know Lorenzo is waiting for me.

I can’t do this to Julian. He’s a good guy, a normal guy, and he has no idea what kind of lions are waiting inside this house.

He doesn't even know he's entering El Círculo. Even if he sees the signs—blacked-out SUVs, the men with bulges under their jackets, heavy security at the gate—he’ll ignore them. He’ll choose to trust me because that’s what nice guys from college do. They think the world is safe. They think a bad family just means people who argue at Thanksgiving, not people who bury their problems in the desert.

“Esme, you there?”

"Julian, listen," I say. "Don't come. I’m so sorry for the trouble, but I have to cancel. Something came up with my family."

"What? Esme, I’m literally turning into the driveway. Is your grandpa okay? You sounded so stressed about this dinner earlier."

"I'm fine, just... please, go home. I'll explain later. I'll make it up to you, I promise. Just don't come inside."

I hang up before he can argue. I lean my forehead against the mirror, taking a deep breath.

I walk out of the bathroom, smoothing down the red dress. Lorenzo is leaning against the wall, checking his watch.

"Is your little friend lost? Because his car just pulled up to the front door."

My blood runs cold. Did he...?

Oh my God.

Shit.

I told him to go. I begged him. But Julian is a 'nice guy,' and nice guys never know when to run.

Lorenzo probably won't hurt him, but he'll wish Lorenzo did.

In the foyer, Julian is already being ushered in. Mateo, one of our enforcers, has a hand on Julian’s shoulder—a heck of a friendly gesture there.

"Move it, kid."

He shoves Julian forward—not enough to make him fall, but enough to pass a message.

Julian stumbles slightly, looking confused and clutching a bouquet of lilies that look pathetic in the room.

He looks terrified, and when we lock eyes, I couldn't even give him some assurance or comfort.

I see my father and Lorenzo exchange a look that makes my stomach turn. It's brief but promises a lot of drama.

And Grandpa? He doesn't look too impressed.

"Have a seat," he tells him coldly.

Julian flashes me a glance and again, I can’t help him. If I show him any affection now, Lorenzo will probably snap his neck before the appetizers are served.

"So," Grandpa starts, "What’s the name?"

"Julian, sir," he says, sounding confident. "Julian Miller. I’m a—"

"How are you okay with this?" Dad cuts in sharply.

"Dating my daughter. How are you okay with this when you know exactly who she is?"

Julian frowns, looking genuinely confused. "Sir? I... I know she’s a... I know your family is... influential. I don't see the problem."

"Gold digger."

Lorenzo.

The bastard...

"I—I’m sorry?" Julian stammers, his face flushing red. "I'm not—I have my own plans. My own career—"

"Hmm... okay," Lorenzo replies again.

Dad snaps. "I do the interrogating and you shut up."

Great.

"Uh... Sir, you... kinda look familiar," Julian says out of nowhere, his eyes on my Grandpa.

I freeze.

Dad frowns. "Familiar?"

"Yeah," Julian continues, squinting at Grandpa. "I think I saw you on the news or a business journal? Something about property development?"

Grandpa doesn't blink. He just continues to chew his meat.

"Property development," Lorenzo repeats. "That’s one way to put it. We do a lot of... groundbreaking work."

"Lorenzo," I warn, but he just scoffs like he'd figured everything out.

I didn't think this through; I was so desperate to get back at Lorenzo that I played a worthless gamble. I should have thought this through. Telling Julian the truth isn't an option; if he finds out who I really am, I won't have a single friend left. He’s the only part of my life that feels normal, and I’m about to watch these men tear it apart.

Just as I begin to think of an excuse to end this nightmare, the front door slams open.

Mateo walks in, looking grim. "Boss. We have a problem. The gate security just found a tracker on the boy's car."

My father stands up, his chair screeching against the floor. He looks at Julian, then at me, his eyes burning with a rage I’ve never seen before.

"Esme, tell me you didn't just bring a Valenti into my house."