Bloody Heart: A Second Chance Mafia Romance (Brutal Birthright Book 4)

I shouldn’t have stormed out of Simone’s house.

I knew her father was going to challenge me. I just thought Simone would be on my side. I thought we’d face her parents together.

There isn’t a person in this world who could rip me away from her. I thought she felt the same.

So when I turned and looked at her and saw that doubt in her eyes . . . it put a tear in my heart. I could feel the flesh ripping inside my chest.

I would go through anything for her. As long as we’re in it together.

She was embarrassed of me. I could tell. I dressed so carefully. But it wasn’t enough. I can’t change what I look like, who I am.

I felt like a bear lumbering around in an art gallery. Everything I did was clumsy and wrong.

And then I left in a rage—proving I was exactly as uncivilized as they thought.

I try to call Simone after. Twenty or thirty times. She never answers. I can’t tell if she’s ignoring me, or if her father took her phone.

I lurk around their house for days. I don’t see Simone leaving in the chauffeured car. Only her father, and once her mother.

It’s driving me insane.

The more time passes, the more I think that the dinner was my fault. It was too much to expect Simone to back me up when I was acting like an animal. I antagonized her father right from the start—what did I expect her to do?

I have to see her.

I wait until night, and I sneak onto the grounds again.

But this time, the security team isn’t just fucking around. They’re on high alert. They’ve put up sensors and they’ve got a fucking Doberman prowling around. The thing starts barking before I’m ten feet onto the grounds.

I haven’t planned for any of that. I was too anxious to see Simone. I didn’t think it through.

They chase me off immediately, and I can hear one of the guards calling the cops. I slink off, humiliated all over again.

I look up at Simone’s window, which hangs like a bright, glowing frame against the dark house.

I see a figure standing there, hand pressed to the window. I see her slim silhouette, and her spread fingers on the glass. But I can’t see her face. I don’t know if she wants me to leave, or to try again.

I have no idea what she’s thinking.