I quickly jump up, backing away as I fix my dress, and with a pointed expression, he does the same.

With slow, predatory steps, he advances on me. “If you think I’ll let you walk away, you’re wrong.”

Acid coats my tongue, but in this moment, my mother would be proud.

I lift my chin, a cold, callousness washing over me, making me appear numb and indifferent when really my body is on fire. Everything inside me is burning.

“If you think you can stop me, you’re wrong.”

His eyes flash, his chest heaving, but he gives a curt nod, walks past, and stops two feet from his brother.

“You can have everything that’s rightfully mine, it means nothing to me, but try to take her, and I will kill you.” Ransom’s promise sends a tremor down my spine.

Anthony, the bastard, laughs, sticks his hands in his pockets, and cocks his head. “If you do, make sure you’re successful this time because it will be your ass if you are not. I won’t stick my neck out for you again.”

“Fuck. You.” Anger courses through Ransom’s very being and his body vibrates where it stands.

His eyes slice to mine, holding as he slams his shoulder into his brother as he passes. He charges down the stairs and out the front door.

The hinges rattle and it shakes the vessels to my heart, threatening to tear them from the heavy beating organ and ending me right here, or at least that’s the way it feels.

But then I realize what he’s just said...

Again.

Subconsciously, my eyes fly along the floor, at the mess made during their spat. Pieces of the iridescent vase gleam around the room, the one that caught my attention the day Anthony brought me here, taunting me without my knowledge with what he knew was coming.

“Ah, yes, the pearls.” Anthony rounds where I stand, using the bottom of his shoe to send several rolling out of his path.

He pours himself a scotch, swirling it in his cup with a small, vile smile.

“See,” he begins. “Sienna loved the ocean. Our family knew this man who worked near the pier, owned this little shop. You go in, pick an oyster, and hope something worthy is inside. She would walk there every day after school, buy herself a bundle, come home and add whatever she found to that exact vase. I guess you could call it her... life’s work.” He grins and horror crosses my face.

“She never found one worth a damn,” he adds. “But she kept going and going, hoping. It’s in our blood, gambling.” He shakes his head. “All she wanted was one perfect pearl, but she never got it.”

My temples throb, and he looks to me.

“The yacht.”

“The yacht, the imperfection hidden under your makeup.” He lifts his glass to his lips, taking a small sip.