Alessandro shook his head. “That’s not the point. I didn’t want you involved in this.”
“Well, in that case, you should’ve told me. You never said, ‘Don’t go to meet my secret fiancée,’ Alessandro.” I spread my arms.
“She is not my secret fiancée,” he ground out.
“You may want to tell her that. During one of your secret phone calls, perhaps.”
He cursed in Italian.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked.
“Because it’s my mess. My baggage. I never wanted the two of you to meet. In fact, I specifically told both Christina and my mother that she was not to come to the US.” He ran his hand through his hair. “I won’t allow my family’s scheming to affect what we have. I will handle it. She won’t bother you again.”
I rubbed my face. I didn’t even know what to do with that.
“I have no plans . . .” he began.
“You’ve been working yourself to a stupor for months so we could buy the Compound and then make improvements to it. This is my so-called baggage. This whole conflict is my baggage, because if I wasn’t the Deputy we wouldn’t be in this mess. So, you are allowed to carry my baggage, but I’m not allowed to carry yours.”
“That’s different,” he said.
“How?”
“It just is.”
“Well, let me know when you think of a way to explain it to me so my little brain can understand.”
“It won’t be an issue again.”
I wanted to shake him. “I’m mad at you.”
“I know.”
“I want it officially noted.”
“Should I prepare a document signed by two witnesses to acknowledge you being mad at me?”
“No, you should tell me when your family forces things on you. You should tell me when you’re having a hard time, because I love you and I know when something is wrong, and I worry. I didn’t go to meet her because I thought you were going off with her. I went there because we grabbed Arkan’s informant and she popped out of nowhere with an ‘I’m here for my fiancé’ announcement. I went to assess a threat. I had no idea—I still have no idea—if she is here because it’s a coincidence or because Arkan found a way to pressure your family and her presence is the result of a long chain of events he set in motion. You didn’t tell me anything. I get it that you think it’s beneath you to ask me for help or to accept help from me since I must be utterly useless and incompetent, but could you at least inform me of this kind of shit out of courtesy?”
He took a step back with his hands in the air in front of him.
My phone rang. I took the call and did my best not to snarl. “Yes?”
“The Spa called,” Patricia said.
The Spa, otherwise known as the Shenandoah State Correctional Facility, a white-collar prison for the rich and famous. Ice slid down my spine.
“There’s been an incident. Your grandmother was hurt.”
I marched through the central hallway of the Spa like I owned it. People saw my face and got out of the way. In all honesty, it probably wasn’t me. It was Alessandro looming next to me, looking like he would run over anyone who got in our way.
I’d called back to the Spa and had a conversation with a somber deputy warden which had taken twice as long as it should have because she was choosing her words like she was picking out the best apples at the market. My grandmother was attacked and injured. She was taken to the infirmary. She was also a little upset by the incident, so the Spa would be happy to waive the normal visiting procedures for my arrival. Translation: Victoria Tremaine is furious, so please, please, please hurry up and soothe her before everyone’s brains start leaking out of their ears, thank you.
I had hung up and announced I had to go to the Spa. Alessandro decided to come with me. We dropped our fight, grabbed the Bus, two Humvees, eight soldiers, plus Leon, and came here. Leon was currently staying with the convoy just outside the prison gates both because it needed guarding and because the Spa gave him “the creeps.”
Konstantin also wanted to come, but I nipped that in the bud. I wouldn’t put it past my grandmother to lobotomize him. I could just imagine the conversation with the Russian Embassy. Here is your prince. He can’t speak in complete sentences anymore, so dreadfully sorry . . .
We made a turn and walked into the infirmary. A prison guard stepped in our way.
“Prime Baylor to see Prime Tremaine,” I snapped.