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“I spent years protecting your ass, Delilah. It’s the very least—”
“I’m sorry, what? You protected me for your benefit.” My words were cold, sure, and measured. Not violent or angry. Just . . . facts. “I couldn’t be a shiny prize in your campaigns if I was a bastard child, could I? The pretty daughter, a spitting image of your dead wife that you could show off, convince the people of Ocean View you were just a sweet, loving widower. But really, what would have happened if it came out that you were so verbally abusive, so addicted to greed and power, that your wife tried to leave you for a mob boss?”
“Protecting you was mutually beneficial, Delilah. Get over yourself. Now, I made a deal with Kline. You can’t just—”
“A deal?” My mind went silent, the word blaring with new clarity. A new understanding of what that word meant. But my father sighed like I was a petulant child and he was tired of explaining things.
“Yes, Lilah. That’s what happens in my line of work.”
“Like the kind of deals you made with Paulie Carluccio? With Johnny Vitale?”
Silence.
At that moment, it clicked.
It all made sense.
Lola was shaken down for money.
Lola was in control of keeping shit under wraps, of paying the debts with her trust fund, of figuring shit out.
“I’m right, aren’t I?” I asked, staring out the window of my high-rise, the puzzle pieces coming together. “We thought you kept me out of it because of Mom. But you didn’t, did you? You didn’t keep me out of your dirty shit at all. You were just . . . quieter about it.”
“Delilah—”
“You whored me out.” The words felt disgusting in my mouth, leaving a shameful coating I’d never be able to brush out.
“That’s—”
“Dates with politician’s son’s that always wound up being crashed by the press.”
“I—”
“Designer gowns to galas.”
“Those—”
“The time Senator Farber kissed me, I told you about it.” This time he didn’t try to interrupt, and I wondered if it was because I had hit the nail on the head. “You said it happened, but to be quiet about it. That you’d speak with him.” More silence.
“How much did he pay you?” I asked, my voice near silent as nausea churned up my throat.
“The fuck, Delilah. Who cares? I need you—”
Who cares.
Not a denial.
Not even an attempt at denial.
“So I’m right. He paid you off so you wouldn’t tell the world that a state senator kissed an 18-year-old girl against her will.” Silence.
It’s funny how much you can hear in silence. How much is spoken in words unsaid, how much is revealed.
“And the dates? How much did those cost?”
Silence.
“Were they cash or favors? Votes?” I licked my lips as it all began to make sense, the blood rushing in my veins with a vengeance. “What—”
