"I think it’s hilarious," I shot back. "The great Marco DeLuca, losing control. Must be a first for you, huh?"
"Get off that fucking plane."
"Make me."
"Grandfather is awake," he snapped. "He’s asking for you."
I scoffed. "And that’s supposed to make me care?"
"He stood by you," Marco pushed, his voice tight. "You owe him that much."
I let out a slow breath. "I don’t owe you a goddamn thing, Marco." Then, after a pause, I added, "And for the record?" My voice dropped to a whisper, sharp as a blade.
"I know." Silence. I smiled, slow and cold. "I know your mistress killed my daughter that day." I could hear his breath hitch. "And I know you covered it up."
"Olivia—"
I hung up.
The phone buzzed again. And again. Desperate. Panicked. I turned it off. And as the plane took off, I closed my eyes and exhaled.
Let him panic. Let him drown in his own lies. Because this? This was just the beginning.
