Her father nodded once, in that polite warning way reserved for enemies who were in his territory and he couldn't do a thing about it.
Dante nodded back, all tiredness from previously gone, in that polite way that gave her father the finger.
Morana resisted the urge to smile at the way it riled her father.
Dante's eyes shifted to her then, for a second, and he nodded to her, in the way she'd always seen him nod at her. Morana didn't nod back, but standing there with the realization that her enemy was more respectful of her than her own father stung.
Dante moved from the door and Tristan Caine walked out, his animalistic body contained inside that suit, flexing with his steps as he strode with four other men on his heels. He stopped to talk to Dante, presenting her with his profile. Keenly aware of her father standing right beside her, Morana averted her eyes and pretended to check her phone, her heart pounding everywhere in her body, from her chest to her ears to her core. Everything throbbed. She throbbed.
And then his eyes came to her.
Again.
Fuck.
She contained a shiver. Barely.
And then his eyes left her.
She held her breath, and when it didn't return, she looked up at her father, to find him watching Tristan Caine with narrowed, angry eyes.
Curious, she followed his gaze to the man who'd been between her legs just minutes ago and blinked in surprise.
Tristan Caine was holding her father's angry glare without blinking, one of his eyebrows raised, his lips curled in a small sneer that was as fake as her British accent. What was he doing?
She got her answer a second later, understanding the game. It was a game of dominance. And there he stood, asserting his dominance in her father's territory, completely unruffled. And she knew, deep in her gut, it was about her.
She'd never felt so alive and never wished she could be more dead than she did at that moment.
"Get in the car," her father spit out angrily, pushing her arm towards the town car. At any other time, Morana would have dug her heels and argued. But not right then. Right then, she practically bolted to the car and got inside, needing to get away from the situation that could explode at any time. Her skin sizzled with the tension hovering in the air and she got in the vehicle without sparing him one glance.
Her father followed, shutting the door and telling the driver to pull away.
Morana grit her teeth and looked out the window, resisting the urge to clench her hands into fists as her father watched. Slowly, her heart calmed down and the shaking inside her stopped as she closed off. She'd been dealing with her father for many, many cold years. She would deal with him now. Ignoring the ache in her body, keeping all and every thought and memory of him at bay, Morana sat straight and just kept her eyes on the fleeting scenery –poised, calm, collected.
Her father didn't say a word for the entire ride. Not that she'd expected him to. No. All the cool he lost would be in private, not in front of his men where she could insult him again. His reputation was much, much more important than hers.
It was a short journey from the restaurant to the mansion. It was long with her knowledge of what was coming.
The minute the property gates appeared and the car slid into its spot, Morana got out of the vehicle and started walking towards the monster of a mansion, closed behind high fences and weapons that could turn against her at a moment's notice.
She almost reached the stairs to her suite when her father's voice boomed from behind her.
"He couldn't keep his eyes off you."
The words, the memory of that gaze lingering on her skin, stroking her naked back, caressing her flesh made her falter on the third step. She quickly recovered before the falter could be noticed and kept her voice cool.
"Isn't that why you doll me up?" she asked, her heart hardened over years of disappointment and hurt.
"He was gone from the place. You were too. And then he comes back and can't keep his eyes off you?"
Morana ignored his harsh words that evoked rough, physical memories, and kept climbing up.
"What were you doing with Tristan Caine?"
Her father followed after her, for the first time in her memory. He never came to her suite. It had always been summons for her.
Morana reached the landing and turned to him, gritting her teeth, the anger in his voice fuelling the cold inside her, the wheels in her head turning.
"I was having sex with him," she told him, her eyebrows raised in challenge.
She saw his arm come up to hit her, hover mid-air, and drop back down.
Her heart pounded, the cold, cold ice in her heart seeping deeper as she stood her ground.
"Tell me the truth," he demanded, his jaw clenched and eyes mad.
"I told you," Morana insisted, prodding him. "I was having wild sex with him in the bathroom with you right outside."
Her father sighed. "No, you weren't. You're not that kind of a girl. I raised you better."
Morana scoffed a laugh at that. "You didn't raise me at all." She was exactly that kind of girl. The heart of the daughter in her – the young girl who'd never won either her father's love or approval – ached. Morana hardened it again.
Her father narrowed his eyes. "What about the man on the bike? Who was he then?"
Morana smirked. "Oh, I slept with him too."
Technically, she had.
"Enough!" her father glared at her, his voice cutting, his accent deepening in the anger. "If you think I will not bring a doctor to have you checked, you are mistaken."
How dare he?
How fucking dare he?
Her blood boiled.
"I dare you," Morana snarled, her lips curling in a sneer. "You even think of bringing a doctor to violate me, I'll shoot her in the head and anyone else who comes near me."
"I've given you too much independence," he grit out, his dark eyes raging. "Too much. It's time it's put to a stop."
"Try to lock me in," Morana clenched her teeth, her voice lowering, her eyes glaring at the man who had spawned her, "and I will dump a heavy file on you right in the FBI's lap and serve you up like meat."
Her father gritted his teeth.
"Oh, I'd die too, but I'd take you down with me," Morana told him, uncaring about her own death. "Keep your nose out of my business, or I'll put mine in yours. And you wouldn't like it, Daddy."
The sarcastic emphasis on the word couldn't be missed. The threat lingering in the air couldn't be missed. The utter, black rage in her father's eyes couldn't be missed.
"You should have died," her father spit out, the words like bullets to her chest.
What? What was he talking about? She couldn’t ask.
Morana turned to leave but he gripped her arm tightly, swinging her around. "I'm not done!"
The sudden motion made her totter on her heels. Before she could blink, her right ankle twisted and her left overbalanced at the edge of the landing, her entire body moving backward. Deja-vu suddenly flashed through her, of the moment she'd been tipping over the stairs at the penthouse and Tristan Caine had gripped her neck and prevented her fall. Her father was gripping her arm, and she kept her heart from pounding.
And then it happened in a split second.
In that split second, Morana knew the stark difference between her father and Tristan Caine.