Chapter 194

It was terrifying. He was a monster who would turn on his own family. But then again, he was confiding in her. He was including her in his plan. That must mean she was important to him. They were family, after all, not like the outsiders.

Reassured by this thought, Renata's tense body began to relax.

"What if something goes wrong?"

"If something goes wrong, you have me," Clifford said. "Do you really think I'd let myself get caught in my own trap? Besides, our immediate problem is cleaning up Santino's mess. If we don't, Dad will never let it go. The best way to solve this is to take away his power to object. Then Santino's problem is solved too, isn't it?"

Every word struck a nerve, and the tension in Renata's brow began to smooth. After a long moment of deliberation, she made her decision. "Alright. If you're backing me up, then I'm in. Tell me what to do. I'll follow your lead.”

Clifford gave her a long, meaningful look. He stood, his hands in his pockets. "Wait for my signal. And remember, not a word of this to anyone. Not even your precious Santino."

"I know."

Clifford turned and left the café. Renata sat there for a long time, her mind reeling. Suddenly, her own ten percent stake seemed trivial. She grabbed her cold coffee and downed it in one gulp, trying to steady her nerves.

...

When Clifford returned to the villa, Latisha was curled up on the sofa, watching TV. She had been obedient, staying inside and contacting no one.

He walked over and sat down beside her. She turned to look at him, her expression neutral.

"Have you eaten?" he asked.

She shook her head.

“Come on, I'll take you out.” He reached over and gently ruffled her hair, acting as if nothing had happened. He was always so unpredictable.

Latisha stared at him for a moment before nodding and going upstairs to change. She came down wearing a red jacket jeans and a grey bluet turtleneck that hid the marks on her neck.

He took her to the same restaurant where he had stood her up. She remembered sitting there for five hours, waiting for a man who had become a stranger. The memory hetd no romance for her.

Clifford ordered without asking her, but everything he chose was a dish she often made at home. She couldn't help but look at him. He was wearing a brown turtleneck and a heavy black coat a departure from his usual suit but just as aloof and imposing. The soft lighting of the restaurant softened his features, making him look almost dreamlike.

"Give me your hand,” he said suddenly.

Latisha hesitated before slowly extending her arm. The marks on her wrists were still a faint red line, and her forearm was mottled with bruises from the night before.

Clifford stared at her arm for a long time before taking a small box from his pocket. Latisha's breath caught in her throat.