Gianna felt like bashing someone's head in, someone like her cousin, who although was pleading with outstretched hands, had a glint of annoyance flashing intermittently in her eyes.
They had touched the properties she had kept in the farthest room, in the least visited part of the mansion.
Worse, they had sold it.
Sold it, as if it meant nothing, as if it was theirs to barter away.
Why would they do that? Because she was sure her uncle was talking bollocks.
His wife and daughter not having enough money? That was complete bullshit, laughably so.
It was just plain old greed, and then to spite her, to hurt her.
"Gianna, what do you want to be done to them? Just say the word, and you will have it…" Old Mr. Thorne spoke then, his voice level, measured.
Clement's eyes darted like a yoyo between Gianna and Old Mr. Thorne, his gaze pleading now.
