Six

The room smelled of smoke and alcohol. The men around the table were smoking huge cigars and drinking whiskey. I sat on the edge of the dark leather sofa, one leg crossed over the other.

Across from me, Arabella’s father sat stiffly in a bright purple plaid suit. The man had questionable style. His hair was silver-white and styled to perfection.

The expensive Richard Mille wristwatch on his hand, paired with the gold bracelet and chunky gold rings, oozed wealth.

It was probably new, dirty money he had received from selling off his own daughter to a vile man like Marco.

Marco leaned back with a smug smile. “So...