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LYLA’S POV

The man grabbed me by my forearm. “Follow me,” he hissed.

I glanced back at my men. “Where will you take them?”

“None of your business,” he hissed, dragging me into the large house. “But don't worry, I won't kill them. Not yet.”

I swallowed. Emilio had called him his uncle, and Isaiah called him father. I thought he was an orphan. How come he—

“Do you know who I am, young girl?”

I shook my head. “No. They never spoke about you.”

Isaiah trailed behind us. “There was a reason for that, Lyla,” he answered. “My father is—”

“My son is dead,” the man hissed. “He died the day he ran away. I do not know you.”

“Father, please,” he begged.

“Get lost,” he said. “Before I shoot you.”

I watched Isaiah slink away. “You should not scream at your child like that,” I said.

The man glared at me. “We're going to my study.”

I walked behind him. “Your house, it's beautiful.”

It was almost as big as Christians. “Thank you,” he said. “I got it from my father, and he got it from my g