Yours On The Dotted Line
“There are entire blogs, websites, and newspaper articles about how much people love you—and how much you’ve done for this city. We want to bring that energy, that joy, into our family.”
“So you want to use me to clean up your image,” I snap.
Father is beside me in an instant, yanking my arm back so he can whisper in my ear.
“Do not fuck this up for us. Show respect.”
His fingers dig into my wrist, hard enough to bruise. I freeze. My father has never laid a hand on me or Stefan. The pain shoots up my arm and into my shoulder, and I’m too stunned to react.
It must show on my face, because Dante speaks up—voice flat, expression unreadable, but his eyes are locked on my father’s hand.
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