She raised her eyebrows. "What?"
He stayed silent for a beat before heading to the big refrigerator. "So, your father pimps you out to his friends and tries to leash you," he spoke, the heavy disgust in his voice clear. "What a man."
Morana grit her teeth. "Pots and kettles. Did you forget the number of times you tried to control me, Mr. Caine? I can remind you if you like," she spoke, her tone deliberately polite.
He stilled on his way to the refrigerator. "I'm nothing like your father, Ms. Vitalio."
"That's actually not true," Morana commented. "You both try to control me and threaten to kill me. What's so different?"
"You don't want to know."
Morana tilted her head, her eyes narrowed. There was an undercurrent of something beneath the heat in that statement. She tried to put her finger on it, but it completely escaped her, much to her frustration.
"Actually, I think I do."
Tristan Caine turned back to the refrigerator and for some reason, she got the sense that he was biting his tongue to keep from speaking.
Okay.
"So, who drugged me at Cyanide?" she asked, ready to demand some answers.
"One of the bartenders," he replied, pulling out frozen chicken and vegetables from the freezer, and setting them on the counter. Morana felt the surprise hit her yet again, seeing the ease with which he moved around the kitchen, as much ease as he would in a field of bullets. She saw him pick up a chopping board and knife.
He cooked.
Tristan 'The Predator' Caine cooked. Would wonders never cease?
Ignoring the odd sensation in her chest, she focused on the questions.
"Why did he drug me?"
The knife stopped above a slice of chicken, hovering in the air as he looked up at her. His jaw clenched, that familiar hatred she'd seen in his eyes so many times flashing before he reined it in. He'd been keeping it under control today for some reason.
Baffled, Morana played with her phone, waiting for an answer.
The elevator doors slid open just as he unclenched his jaw to speak.
People had the worst timing!
Dante came walking into the area, his tall, muscular body encased in a dark suit, his hair slicked back. His dark eyes came to her, before flickering to Tristan Caine, some kind of silent look passing between them, and back to her again.
"Morana," he spoke, coming to stand beside her as she tensed. "I apologize for being unable to meet you. Something very urgent came up at the last second."
Morana studied him, her eyes narrowed. He seemed sincere enough. She nodded. "That's okay."
"I heard you were attacked. Are you alright?"
Morana raised her eyebrows even as his concern seemed genuine. And then she remembered what Amara had told her about the two men being protective of women.
She nodded again. "I'm fine. But I need my car tomorrow."
Dante smiled. "Tristan arranged for the repairs already."
Her eyebrows hit her hairline as she turned to the other man. "You did?"
He ignored her, his eyes on Dante. "Should I get ready?"
"Yes."
Another silent look.
Tristan Caine nodded and walked around the counter, heading towards the stairs.
Dante turned to her, his dark eyes genuinely concerned. "My apartment is two floors down. I know you said you didn't want to work with him, so if you'd like you can stay there for tonight. I won't be home and it will be empty."
She saw Tristan Caine stop on the stairs before she could speak, his entire body tensing as he turned to face Dante, his eyes cool.
"She stays here," he growled.
Growled.
Morana blinked in surprise as the edge in the tone. It sent a shiver through her. She'd have thought he'd be glad to have her out of his hair.
Dante spoke up from beside her, addressing the man, a hand in his pocket. "It's a better option. You will return later and I won't. She can stay comfortably till morning."
Tristan Caine didn't blink away from his blood brother, and another look passed between them.
"Tristan..." Dante spoke, his voice slightly worried. "You don't..."
Tristan Caine turned his eyes to her, the force of his gaze knocking the breath out of her lungs.
"You won't come to any harm tonight," he told her, the conviction in his voice hard. "Stay."
Before Morana could blink, much less digest the words, he was gone.
And Morana sat exactly where she had been sitting minutes ago, completely stumped.
Rain.
Drops beating against the glass in a musical, melancholic symphony. There was something about the sound of rain that sent pangs through her chest.
Morana lay curled on her side, listening to the sound of raindrops hitting the glass, the urge to feel them, to see them, overwhelming her.
She was all alone. In the room. In the apartment. In her life.
Swallowing, she got down from the bed in the darkened room, and slowly walked towards the door, her heart heavy in her chest for some reason. Opening the door, she looked out into the completely darkened living area and walked on quiet feet towards the glass wall that beckoned her on a level she hadn’t realized she had.
The faint light from outside filtered through the wall almost ethereally. She walked, closer and closer to the glass, seeing the raindrops splash against the glass and slither down.
Morana stopped a step away from the glass, watching her breath steam it slowly before it disappeared. The clouds hung heavy in the night sky, the lights of the city twinkling on the right, glittering like gems on a fabric of obsidian, the sea on her left for as far as she could see, cresting and falling with the storm.
Morana stood on the spot, drinking in the view, her throat tightening.
She had never seen rain like this. Never felt this freedom in her eyes. Her views from her window had ended in manicured lawns and high fences, beyond which nothing could be seen. She felt her hands rise of their own accord, the profound need in her heart so acute, for something she knew she could never have, for something she hadn't even known she'd needed.
Her hands hesitated an inch from the glass, her heart bleeding. She slowly pressed them down. The cool glass felt solid against her palms. She stood there for a long moment, aching, only a wall of glass between her and certain death. She watched the city in a way she'd never seen it, the city she had lived her entire life, the city that was still a stranger.
Her hands slid down the glass as she sat down on the floor right against it, cross-legged, and leaned forward, her breaths steaming the glass repeatedly.
Thunder crackled in the sky, a split of lightening bathing everything in brilliant white before disappearing. Droplets hit the glass in tandem, trying to break it like bullets, trying to reach her but unable to. She sat behind that wall, longing to feel those droplets on herself, longing to let them sear her, but unable to. And wasn't that her life. Longing for things she couldn't reach, things that tried to reach her and came up against a wall. A glass wall. Where she could see everything, know exactly what she was missing, drown in her awareness even as the glass couldn't break. Because just as it did now, breaking the glass meant death.
And lately, Morana wondered if it wouldn't be worth it.
Her lips trembled, her hands pressed against the glass, seeing the tears fall from the sky and slide down the walls in defeat, and felt one slip from the corner of her eye.