Fate Book Two Read Online Free PDF Page B

seriously, Paolo looked like he was posing. And as odd as that sounded, my father once had professional modeling portfolios made up for some of his men as part of some cover. In a roundabout way, it was how I met Paolo—a long story.
    “Afraid not,” my father replied.
    I flipped to the next page to see Paolo standing with open arms. On the following page, he hugged a blonde woman. The page after that, the two kissed passionately.
    “When were these taken?” I asked.
    “Yesterday. I took them myself.” My father didn’t blink.
    “You’re sure?”
    He nodded. “If you care to see the other photos I took through the bedroom window, I’m more than happy to—”
    “No.” Was it possible to die from a broken heart? Because I could swear mine wanted to stop beating.
    “I also,” my father said, “have pictures of him dining with the Abelli family.”
    I nearly threw up right then and there. “The…the…Abelli family?”
    “Paolo is the second son of Giuseppe Abelli.”
    Oh dear Lord of infamous criminals. Paolo had never told me his real last name because he’d said it was best for both of us. He had shared, however, that his family was part of the Mafia. But that was a lie. They were the Mafia. The family who’d been connected to Mussolini in World War II and had escaped war crimes tribunals. The family who’d laundered money in the ’90s for terrorists who’d later use the funds to attack the United States. Please, oh please, dear God. “Not that Abelli family.”
    “Yes. That Abelli family.” My father’s face still showed no signs of emotion. Of course, he lived and breathed this crap his entire life.
    I sat in the broken-down chair and suddenly felt a sort of cosmic camaraderie with the thing. “Who’s the woman?” I asked, completely in shock, completely unaware I’d made my lips move.
    “Nikki Hunt. The heiress to the Hunt shoe empire.”
    Oh God, the universe hates me. Really, really hates me. I hadn’t been able to see her face in the pictures, but I knew who she was. There was hardly a person who went grocery shopping who didn’t. She repeatedly showed up in the tabloids, linked to one scandal or another, kind of like an Italian Paris Hilton. Only on naughty steroids. And with a giant rack. And a bank account, arrest record, and shoe collection to match. She was every bad boy’s fantasy and everything I was not.
    I wanted to hit something. Then I wanted to cry.
    “Dakota, I’m sorry. Though I’m relieved we discovered the truth before it was too late.”
    I nodded, but it wasn’t because I agreed. I just didn’t know what else to do.
    “I hope,” he said, “now you’ll understand why I felt it necessary to keep close tabs on Paolo.”
    My heart shattered into noxious uneven chunks with sharp jagged edges as my dreams of a future with Paolo evaporated. “Sure. Whatever.”
    “And now will you tell me why you rented out this office?”
    “I was going to try to get Paolo back, using myself as bait,” I mumbled, staring at the floor, still in complete shock about the pictures. It just didn’t make sense.
    “I see.”
    I felt a small twitch of relief that he chose not to say something like, “You’re an idiot. It never would have worked.” I supposed he thought I’d had enough kicks to the gut for the day.
    Instead, he said, “We’ve got to go now. If I could find this place, then so can Paolo.” He gestured toward the door. “Or his people.”
    “Paolo would never hurt me. At least physically.” Because he’d had every chance in the world, but hadn’t.
    “You so sure about that?” he asked.
    I looked up at my father, a man who induced so many mixed emotions that I felt like a living roulette wheel. I trust you. I don’t trust you. I love you. I don’t love you. I hate you. I don’t hate you. The little ball could land anywhere.
    “Whe—where are we going?” I asked, the tears of heartbreak now trickling from my eyes.
    “To start over, honey.”
    “I