"Information spreads very fast on the internet these days. I'm just saying." Mylo shrugged casually, as if he wasn't detonating a bomb in the middle of the living room.
If there was anyone Marcus De Rossi despised more than Dante, it was Mylo. Dante was predictable—stubborn, bold, foolishly loyal. But Mylo? Mylo was a storm without a forecast. He had never been present enough in Mylo's life to predict his behavior, what he would say, or how far he was willing to go.
And that was exactly why Mylo terrified him.
He wasn't sure what his younger son was talking about. He wasn't even sure if Mylo was joking, bluffing, or purposely trying to rattle him.
"You can upload any video you want," Marcus said dismissively. "I'll just get it deleted off the face of the internet."
Rhea's eyes shimmered with tears as she stared at Mylo. Fear clung to her. Fear that she might be dragged back into the hell she had just escaped. Her hands trembled, her breathing shallow.
