This morning, however, was different. I’d gotten up to run but ran to the bathroom to vomit instead. Surprisingly, I’d felt better afterward, so I had gone to drink some orange juice and make an egg-white sandwich to have with some Greek yogurt. But when I had smelled the egg cooking, my stomach had soured, and I’d once again run to the bathroom to vomit.

I stood in the kitchen now, staring at the stove as if it were my enemy, although I was hungry. I wanted my yogurt, but the egg scared me. Covering my nose, I dashed to grab my yogurt, then hurried for the door to get out of the house and away from the smell of egg, because as of this morning, I hated that smell.

Jerking my front door open, I screamed in surprise, then froze, staring up into a face I hadn’t seen in a long time. One I had never expected to see again. I couldn’t think of one good reason for him to be here or how he had gotten here or how he knew where I lived.

There was no joy in this reunion. I’d never expected there to be. The concern that he would one day come after me had always been tucked inside, but I’d ignored it. Until now. I’d have to face this. Hiding wasn’t an option.

“Franco?” His name fell from my lips easily enough, but his face wasn’t welcome. I’d left him in Paris. Where he needed to be. A small knot of fear settled inside me, as a million reasons ran through my head for why this man was at my house almost a year after I’d seen him last.

“Hello, Nan. You look, ah, unwell, actually. Are you doing OK?” The smooth, cultured timbre of his voice had once intrigued me. Now I was frightened of it. I knew there was more to him than a pretty face and wealth. He was dangerous. He wasn’t here because he missed me.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, wishing I had my phone on me so I could call Rush. He knew about Franco and why I’d run away from him. It had been a mistake in my past that I wasn’t sure I could ever overcome. As much as I tried to pretend this man was just a casual fling, my secret was that I knew things I didn’t want to know. Things that could very likely get me killed.

“I missed you, bella.” He used the endearment he’d used with me when he’d brought me into his world without me knowing.

“No, Franco, you didn’t. You were bored with me. You said so yourself. So why are you here?” I asked, wishing I’d curbed the sass in my voice, because this man wasn’t just anyone. He was a psycho. A cruel smile curled his lips, and I knew that meant pain would soon follow. Maybe I would vomit on him. Or get him sick. Franco with a stomach virus sounded appealing yet almost impossible. He was untouchable.

“You’re alone. I’ve watched you.” He took a step toward me, and I wanted to run away, but I stood firm. Moving would give him access to my home. And would give him privacy with me.

“Rush is on his way to take me to breakfast,” I lied.

Franco laughed and shook his head, as the evil gleam in his eyes sent shivers down my spine. “No, dear, he’s not. Hes at the country club with his sweet little family having breakfast. I cover my bases. You know that.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck. I needed a plan. “What do you want with me?” I asked, facing my fear. I had no other escape.

Franco ran his thumb over his chin in a tight pinch that I remembered and hated. “The same thing I wanted the last time we met, bella. Take me to meet Daddy Dearest,” he said, in the demanding smooth drawl that made me want to spit in his face.

Kiro. He wanted to meet Kiro. He wanted a drug connection with Kiro that would give him some power I didn’t understand or want to understand. All I knew was that Franco had most of the music industry in the U.K. in his back pocket in the drug world that had made him a wealthy man. He now wanted into the U.S. market, and he wanted my father as his ticket in.

When he’d found out who my father was, he’d come after me to charm me before showing me the ugliness of his world. Once I’d realized how deep into his life I’d sunk, it was too late. Running from him had been terrifying, but with Rush’s help, I’d gotten away.

“Kiro doesn’t use anymore. I told you that.” Which was true. He’d cleaned up and started spending all his time with his wife, Harlow’s mother, who was completely dependent on constant care because of brain damage caused by a car accident years ago.

Franco laughed, throwing his head back as if I were hilarious. I waited until his insane laughter ended. “I’m serious. He’s not even touring anymore. Haven’t you noticed that?”

Franco leaned closer to me, and I swallowed hard, trying not to whimper. “I don’t give a fuck. I want you to introduce me. That’s all I’m asking, Nanette.”

“No,” I replied, without thinking through how he would react to my refusal.

His hand wrapped around my upper arm as he jerked me against his body until his face was in mine. “Yes, you will, or I’ll take you inside this house and slice off one long, pretty finger at a time while you scream and bleed all over the expensive floors. When you finally have had enough, I’ll get it from you and end your pathetic existence with a single bullet. Right”—he placed his middle finger on the spot between my eyebrows—“here.”

“Step away from her, or I’ll put a single bullet through the back of your motherfucking head.” Major’s voice came from nowhere, and for a brief moment, I wondered if I was actually dreaming all this. The vomiting? Franco? Major? This was all getting more unbelievable by the moment.