The girl had a gentle face, but her words were utterly ruthless.
She was forcing him to make a choice.
There were only two paths laid out before him.
Either kill the old man and eliminate the source of their suffering.
Or kill her—right here, right now, in Portia.
Even if he didn't act, the old man would never spare her. It would be better to die by his hand.
But…
They both knew, deep down, that he would never lay a hand on her.
The most he'd ever done, even in the heat of passion, was give her a slap on the rear.
She was so delicate, crying at the slightest touch. How could he ever bear to strike her forcefully?
How could he bring himself to deliver a killing blow?
Silas Grant closed his hand, his palm covering hers over the cold Butterfly Knife. As he lifted his chin, his gold-rimmed glasses caught the light, reflecting a piercing, cold glint.
Mia Grant met his gaze, unflinching. The smile in her eyes never faded as she waited quietly for him to speak.
