Chapter 4 4

"Because I do not want my best friend getting played by a man who treats people like garbage!"

Francesca shoved her hands against his chest. The lie tore out of her throat, desperate and loud. She pushed with all her strength. Anton, caught off guard by her sudden physical resistance, let go of her chin and shifted back just enough.

She hit the unlock button on the door panel, shoved the door open, and practically fell out onto the dirty Brooklyn sidewalk. She slammed the door shut without looking back and ran into her building.

Anton sat in the quiet car, his chest heaving slightly. He adjusted his cuffs, his jaw locked tight. He did not believe her. The panic in her eyes had been too real. She was hiding something. He pulled out his phone and dialed his head of security. "I want a full trace on Francesca Meyers. Phone records, movements, everything. Find out what she is hiding."

Three days later, the sky over Manhattan broke open, dumping freezing rain onto the city streets.

Francesca sat inside Balthazar, the warm, golden light of the French brasserie a stark contrast to the miserable weather outside. Across the small table sat Julian and Hayden. Julian was smiling, holding Hayden's hand. The diamond engagement ring on Hayden's finger caught the light.

Francesca smiled at them, but her chest felt hollow. She was terrified Anton would find out about this dinner. She kept glancing at the door.

Across the street, parked illegally in front of a fire hydrant, sat a black Bentley. The engine was off.

Anton sat in the driver's seat. The rain lashed against the windshield, distorting the lights of the restaurant. He had read the security report. He knew she was here. He stared through the glass, his eyes fixed on the window where Francesca sat.

He watched as the dinner ended. The three of them stood up and walked toward the exit.

Anton rolled his window down an inch. The freezing wind bit into his face.

Francesca, Julian, and Hayden stepped out under the restaurant's awning. They were waiting for a car. Anton watched as the man-Julian Meyers, Francesca's brother-turned to Hayden. Julian reached out, gently adjusted Hayden's scarf against the cold, and then pulled her into his arms.

Anton watched as Julian pulled Hayden into his arms and kissed her. The gesture was possessive, leaving no doubt about their relationship.

Inside the Bentley, Anton's blood turned to ice.

He stared at the scene, his mind violently snapping the pieces together into a grotesque picture. Hayden was not single. She was with Julian Meyers. And Francesca knew.

Francesca had known the whole time. She had refused to help him not out of moral outrage, but because she was protecting her brother's territory. She had lied to his face. She and her pathetic brother were playing him for a fool.

A blinding, destructive rage exploded in Anton's chest. His hands gripped the steering wheel so hard the leather creaked.

Across the street, a town car pulled up. Julian and Hayden hugged Francesca goodbye and climbed into the back seat. The car drove away, leaving Francesca standing alone under the awning, waiting for her rideshare.

Francesca shivered, pulling her coat tight. She glanced across the street. Her breath hitched. Through the heavy rain, she recognized the sleek lines of the black Bentley.

Before she could process the fear, the driver's side door opened.

Anton stepped out into the downpour. He did not have an umbrella. He wore a heavy cashmere overcoat, but he did not seem to feel the cold. He walked straight across the street, his boots splashing through the deep puddles. He looked like a predator closing in for the kill.

Francesca backed up, her heart leaping into her throat. "Anton? What-"

"Shut up." His voice cut through the sound of the rain, sharp as a razor.

He stopped two feet away from her. The rain plastered his dark hair to his forehead. His eyes were completely dead.

"You think you are clever, Francesca?" he spat, the disgust rolling off him in waves. "You and your brother. You think you can make a fool out of me?"

Francesca shook her head frantically, her wet hair whipping across her face. "What? No, Anton, you do not understand. Let me explain-"

She reached out, her fingers brushing the wet sleeve of his coat.

"Do not touch me!"

Anton violently shoved her arm away. He used too much force. Francesca lost her balance on the slippery, wet pavement. Her arms flailed, but she could not catch herself.

She fell backward, landing hard in a deep puddle of freezing, filthy street water. The impact sent a shockwave of pain up her spine. The icy water instantly soaked through her skirt and coat, chilling her to the bone.

Pedestrians hurrying by stopped and stared. Whispers broke out.

Francesca sat in the dirty water, gasping for air. The physical pain was nothing compared to the crushing humiliation. Her throat closed up. She looked up at him, her vision blurring with hot tears.

Anton stood over her. He looked down at her sitting in the mud, and his lip curled in absolute revulsion.

"You make me sick," he said, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper.

He turned his back on her, walked to his Bentley, got in, and drove away. The tires sent a spray of dirty water washing over her legs.