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Call me.
Nothing more.
Wait…what if something had happened to Mom?
Adrenaline shot through my system, and I accidentally dropped my phone. Mom was the poster child of mentally unstable. She was so obsessed with pleasing Dad or at least getting his attention, there wasn’t much space for anything else.
Or me.
And yet, I loved her.
I dropped down to the floor and, with trembling fingers, dialed him back—didn’t even look at what time it was. As the dial tone droned on, I couldn’t help but recall all the times he’d dismissed me or Mom. But better to be invisible than to draw his anger.
Which version of him would pick up the call? Maybe I should’ve called Mom directly.
My heart pounded in my chest as the call connected all the same.
“Then kill the bastard. I don’t care. Just deal with him.” My father’s harsh command jolted me. I had no idea who he was referring to, or who he was talking to, but the throwaway line sent a chill down my spine.
“Father?” I managed to choke out, trying to keep my voice steady despite the unease welling up inside me. He was attending to business, so my mother was probably okay.
What had I been expecting? His full attention?
I snorted.
No, this was my reality, and I finally needed to stop hoping for change.
“Fiona.” His voice was cold and distant, a stark reminder of the strained relationship we had.
“You’ve been trying to reach me?”
“Yes.”
Okay, what the hell? If he had urgent business to discuss with me—which his multiple calls and texts suggested—then why was he not talking?
“I don’t like the company you’re keeping.”
Hmm. So that was what it was all about? I’d somehow disappointed my father, and now, he was giving me the icy treatment.
“You mean Sophie?” I asked.
“I mean, you becoming the whore for a couple of scumbag Italian wannabe gangsters.”
I inhaled sharply.
I was so shocked, I sputtered. Then stumbled for words. “What are you talking about?”
“You being Alessandro Falcone’s whore,” my father said, his voice full of venom. “You come back home right this instant. I’ve already sent someone. If I’d known you’re so sex-crazed you let dogs between your legs, I would’ve married you off to one of those Russian assholes. At least then, I’d get something out of you giving your body to whoever is nice to you. Or is he paying you for your services?”
Silence.
I couldn’t even…
What the hell? Where was this hatred coming from?
This was far beyond the strained relationship we’d had for as long as I could remember. I knew he didn’t care about me. I never thought he hated me.
I struggled to maintain my composure, the rebellious streak I’d cultivated over the years threatening to take over.
