Althea Tate's hand rested on her leg, sharp waves of pain surging through her. She pressed her lips tightly together, her face frozen in cold detachment.
She had said it long ago. Dante Flagg was nothing but a madman.
She had done nothing to wrong him, yet he had tried to kill his own mother. She could still recall her son's terrified expression at the moment of the explosion, while she herself was struck in the leg, plunged into utter despair and helplessness. At that time, she had wished she had never given birth to that lunatic.
A man who repeatedly cast her and her son into peril deserved no mercy now.
His fortune was nothing more than compensation owed to her.
Althea's gaze grew colder. Leaning back, she let out a mocking laugh. "In the end, his money is just for others to take, though no one really cares for it. To have raised such a son is shame enough. The sooner this business of the shares is settled, the better. At least it spares him a shred of dignity."
