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Maybe it’s my imagination, but my father sounds older somehow, more tired. He seems apprehensive about who or what he might find on the other end of the line.
“Hi, Papa.”
His exhale fills the room as he swears with relief.
“Tessa. How are you calling? Are you safe? Where are you?”
“I’m fine. I promise, I’m fine,” I assure him, cutting off his rapid-fire questions before he can get ahead of himself. “Salvatore let me call. It’s been a while, and I just didn’t want you to think the worst…”
“The whole family is behind us on this,” he continues urgently. “It won’t be much longer now. We’re not going to leave you with that monster. Like all rabid animals, he’s to be put down like a dog in the street.”
I glance up. The so-called monster in question looks unaffected as ever.
“Tell me, what has he done to you? Are you hurt at all?”
For some reason, the truth feels shameful. That Salvatore hasn’t hurt me, that I sit around anticipating him like a pet waiting for its master to come home. The worst things Salvatore has done to me, I’ve liked. I am as guilty as I am grateful for it all.
“I told you, I’m fine. He’s taking care of me, papa.”
“Swear it to me,” he says.
“I swear it. You know I’m a bad liar.”
He laughs weakly.
“Yes. Yes, always. Despite my best efforts. I’m sorry for all this, Tessa. You don’t know how the regret keeps me up at night. I know I should have acted sooner. I should have made sure you were taken care of before something like this happened. I mean, I tried of course…” my blood runs cold as I piece together what he’s talking about, the final fallout that put this wide rift between us. “. . .Well, I could have done better. That’s all.”
I don’t know what to say to that, my words stolen.
“Tessa?” he says, worry trying to pluck at my frozen-over heart.
“It’s not your fault,” I force myself to say.
“No. No, we both know whose fault it is. Is he there?”
Salvatore nods his approval.
“He’s here.”
“Tell him we can reach a deal. I’m still willing to negotiate. This doesn’t have to get any bloodier.”
“How bloody has it—”
The phone is plucked from my hand before I can ask.
“Start talking numbers, Lovera,” Salvatore says, abruptly taking charge of the conversation. “What are you offering?”
The sudden change in Salvatore nearly gives me whiplash, as if another person has entered the room. I’ve seen how Salvatore is when he talks business—direct, efficient, and cold as ice. But I’ve never seen him switch it on like that, so effortlessly becoming the man who runs this vast, illicit empire.
Would he really make a deal? Is there a number my father could say that would put an end to this and make Salvatore give me up?
The line goes quiet for a few long seconds, leaves just the rain tapping noisily at the window.
“I’m going to assume you’re checking your bank account,” Salvatore presses again.
“Just mustering the will to talk to you like a man and not an animal,” my father says, his rage a razor’s edge in his voice. “What are your terms?”
“I asked first. As far as I’m concerned, the sky better be the limit. I’m not easily impressed.”
