“I hate you.” His laugh makes my blood white-hot. “For the love of God, Ophelia, Make. It. Believable.” “I hate you, Alex. I hate that you’re studying business and not architecture. I hate that you flew home three weeks ago to unveil a new jet with your father. I hate that your boundary between right and wrong is complicated. They’re real people, Alex; the people who end up as collateral. The whistleblowers who go missing. The people who die in accidents. Hell, even the Mafia bosses with blood on their hands, they have families too. They’re not business; they’re mothers and fathers, daughters
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