I paused, shoulders tense, and rolled my eyes toward the ceiling. “What else do you have to say?”
“I am not going to force you to comply,” Noah said, standing up and walking around the desk. “But since you’re stubborn, listen closely. Either you start making an ‘effort’ to cooperate, or... you can slowly wave goodbye to your trust fund.”
I closed my eyes, taking a deep, steadying breath. I didn’t care about the money for myself, but that fund was my mother’s lifeline. It was her private care, private specialists, expensive treatments, her comfort, her slim chance at recovery.
I forced myself around to face him again, my gaze sharpening into slits. “What does ‘making an effort’ look like to you?”
A faint flash of victory crossed Noah’s face. He was lucky I didn’t punch it right off.
“Simple. I’m hosting a business party tomorrow night. Drop in. Smile. Shake hands. Appear…civilized. If you manage to act the part of a son, I’ll know you’re committed, I’ll consider that… progress.”
I felt the cage doors closing. My father was treating me like a delinquent child, holding my mother’s life as the ransom. I should destroy him here and now, and then this office, leave him for dead and never look at his face again.
But I couldn’t afford Mom’s bills alone. The prize money from the fight would help, but hospital bills were expensive.
Unless,I thought.
I cut it off.
But not quick enough.
Darragh’s leering grin flashed in my mind, cool as he had always been, yet menacing. In his hands, that belt. Always the fucking belt.
For a split second, I considered the alternative devil in my life.
I looked at Noah’s extended hand. I thought of my mother’s frail hand in the hospital; I thought of the bruise on Ingrid’s arm. I was surrounded by people who needed me to be stronger than the monsters who wanted to run my life—and who, unfortunately, needed me tolet themrun my life, at least for now.
Question was, which was the lesser of two evils? Darragh, or my father?
Noah tilted his head. “So,” he said softly, like he was savoring my submission already, “do we have a deal… son?”
Ingrid
I waved goodbye to Mr. Arthur as I tucked my music sheets into my bag, my fingers trembling slightly. My father had delivered the news this morning: a business party this afternoon. It was a command, not an invitation.
I’d been trying so hard to stay on his good side lately. It had been so difficult. My abuelita had been needling at him to let me be more independent, and he knew that she had overruled him several times, allowing me to go out when he never would. But it’s always the same with my father. He battles her, eases off of me for a while, mostly because his attention is diverted; then when she is gone, all that anger comes right back out at me.Simmer, wait, unleash, repeat.
Hence the new bruise he added to my arm after I visited Tristian’s apartment.
I sighed, my thoughts drifting helplessly to the brooding tattooed man.
I’d assumed a little distance might help me come back to myself after the night at the boxing match. But the humiliating truth was, the closer I moved toward him, the less I wanted to breathe without him nearby. I couldn’t stop thinking about him. He was a constant presence in my mind, a distraction that made my fingers clumsy on the harp strings and my studies blur into nothingness.
My father shoved the door to the music room open, jolting me out of my thoughts.
“Your dress is prepared in the tailoring room,” he grunted. He didn’t look at me; he looked at his watch. “The party starts in a few hours. Come with me.”
I followed him like a shadow.
He opened the door to the tailoring room, and I couldn’t help the gasp that escaped me. The dress was exquisite, extravagant—and so unbelievably over the top.
Terrifying layers of shimmering pink and rose gold fabric, beadwork so heavy it would make my shoulders ache. Almost as heavy as my quinceañera dress, which I’d spent the entire night fighting back tears in. But then, it wasn’t like my father got this for my comfort. This wasn’t a dress for me. It was a trophy I was to wear so every businessman at this party envied Samuel Rodriguez’s display of wealth and his perfect family, with his perfect, obedient little puppet of a daughter.
“Thank you, Papa,” I whispered, not feeling the remotest hint of gratitude.
The click of the lock made my heart jump into my throat. I turned to see him leaning against the door, his eyes dark and empty, his tall, tailored frame blocking the exit completely.There was nowhere togo.
I opened my mouth to speak, but he held up a hand, and the air died in my lungs.
