The Billionaire Quartet

Chapter Nine

I missed the rest of the week of school and I didn't leave back to the Hamptons, though I will tonight when no one else is out on the streets.

I've just stayed cooped up in my giant two story penthouse doing nothing but workout, eat, sleep, and play my piano.

I should tell Olivia about my past slowly but I'm still going to keep the fact that I was involved in some not so legal activities through my sophomore year, a secret for a while.

It was my unhealthy coping mechanism, by joining part of the last dregs of what was once a large gang but my conscience told me otherwise and they were all arrested, and I got off with two months probation, which was over halfway through summer, I then told the boys what I had done and they were actually really supportive but I never expected that to be brought up.

Standing at the giant window of my penthouse, I look over Central Park, and the darkening sky above me.

I then quit staring at the depressing sky, and walk away up the set of stairs and walk into my bedroom, before having a shower, I don't really feel like getting into my car having not had one.

Getting out I dress in black jeans, V-neck shirt, and a bomber before walking over to the boot room and slipping on my black NMD's the same one's I wore when I left my main house.

I then step into the elevator and go down to the lobby, and out the front door to my Chiron Noire, before getting into the car, and starting it.

I then drive away, speeding like I always do heading towards the Ed Koch Queensboro Bridge to get into Queens.

If I wasn't a billionaire I would live in Malba Queens, in comparison it's the Hamptons with homes a quarter of the price. The only difference is that Queens doesn't have a 1400 Meadow Lane, that's only the Hamptons.

I then get into the fast lane and speed up slightly. Then my phone vibrates and as I pull up to a recently turned red light I check it. Livi.

I then hit the green button, and her voice comes through the speakers.

"Adrian you might not want to hear anyone's voice right now, but I'm being followed".

I grip the steering wheel tighter then I ever thought possible.

If someone touches a hair on her head, I'll kill them.

"Where are you?" I ask my voice is emotionless, a side effect of my anger.

"51st Ave and Ireland St, I'm walking there's four men behind me, please hurry" she says the fear and panic in her voice, which only makes my anger rise.

"I'm on my way, you'll hear me before you see me" I say speeding up, and taking an exit.

"Don't hang up please" she whispers her voice breaking.

"I won't I promise bellissima, I'm turning onto Queens Boulevard".

"That was Italian what did you say?" she asks.

Of course she asks a question to lower the stress in this situation.

"When I get there you can look it up" I say, and as far as I can see there isn't anyone, so I floor it, going from fifty to one-forty in about three seconds.

"Okay" she replies.

A kilometer later and another sixty miles an hour, I slow down thanking the French engineers that work for Bugatti for making such good brakes, before turning down Jacobus Street.