Breaking the Billionaire's Rules

by Annika Martin

“He once baked dirt into a brownie she had to eat on stage,” Lizzie says. She’s heard all of the stories. “She took a bite and she had to keep chewing—” “—and it was dry and weird and gritty, and I so wanted to spit it out,” I say. “Though to be fair, I did put a remote-control squeaking mouse cat toy in his piano right before his freshman recital. And I made it scrabble around while he played Chopin’s Nocturne in E flat. A sweet, quiet piece.” I snicker, remembering. “Of course he didn’t react. Nothing fazes Max. He has a protective titanium exoskeleton.”

“You don’t know. Max is my kryptonite. Beyond kryptonite. Kryptonite doesn’t live to destroy you. Kryptonite doesn’t stare at you with an amused light in its eyes as you die inside.”

It’s one of the more iconic pictures of him; he looks devastatingly handsome, but that’s not what’s special about it—it’s the way the shot captures his gaze, his ability to make you feel like he’s looking right into you and you alone, all sparkling, knowing humor. Like he knows all of your secrets because you trusted him for a little while, and he stomped all over your heart. And you stupidly still love him.

“Milano is not a cookie,” Antonio growls. “It’s a city.” “Sorry, Antonio…” Jada winces. “In America it kind of is a cookie.” “If you knew the underbelly of Milano as I did,” Antonio says, “you would not think it.” “The underbelly of Milano,” I say. “Is that near the hardscrabble alley behind the Keebler Elves’ Factory?” I ask. Jada raises a finger. “I believe it’s located east of the Pepperidge Farms killing fields.” “Stop it, you guys! Let Antonio tell his backstory.” Kelsey turns to Antonio. “Ignore them, Antonio. Please go on.” Antonio fixes her with that dark expression, something I might describe as Scarface meets Blue Steel.

I take out my wallet and extract a fifty. “Who was that with Mia?” The driver gapes at the money. “I can’t take that.” “Why not? Did you take an oath of silence?” “No, but…I don’t want trouble with Antonio.” “Trouble? What kind of trouble?” The kid looks up and down the street, as if he’s worried Antonio might jump out of the shadows. “He has a lot of darkness in his heart.” I frown. “What does that mean?” “You don’t want to know. Just leave it. And don’t ask around about him—he’s dangerous.” I get a little closer and shove the fifty into his front pocket. “I won’t have to ask around if you tell me. What do you mean by dangerous?” The kid lowers his voice. “Antonio would plunge a knife into your heart as easily as he’d cut a ripe tomato. That’s what I mean.” I stare. Hard. “Are you being funny?”

OMG. 🤣🤣🤣 Dying!