~ Massimo ~
I could hear the rhythmic ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway drifting into the quiet room, each second a countdown to when Kyo will answer the call.
The line clicked after the third ring.
My father reached out and placed the phone on the low table, tapping the speaker icon with a steady finger.
A split second later, Kyo's voice drifted through the speakers, lilted with a crisp Japanese accent that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
"Giacomo. What a pleasant surprise, " he sounded far too calm for a man whose soldiers were currently lying dead just outside a hotel.
My jaw tightened. The way he called my father by his first name—without a shred of respect, without a title, without the reverence that a man of my father's stature commanded—made a hot anger kindle in the pit of my stomach.
It was a deliberate slap in the face, delivered across the miles from Dallas to our living room.
