“So he’s making his move this weekend, then?” Dorian asked.
Charley shook her head. “I bought another two weeks. Three at the most. I said you needed time to see the acquisition through before we could get away.”
“He knows about theacquisition?”
“He knows nearly everything.”
Shuddering under his accusatory, wounded glare, Charley gave him the play-by-play—details about Travis’ surveillance of the estate, the fake interviews at FierceConnect, her own assumptions on how the actual heist would likely go down. Every detail felt like an arrow shot straight into Dorian’s heart, but she forced herself to continue, all the way to the bitter end.
“Unbelievable. Truly.” Dorian scowled and shook his head, unable to hide his disgust.
“Look, Dorian. I told you I’d come clean about the robbery. Judge me all you’d like—God knows I deserve it. But if you’re going to keep asking me questions, don’t act surprised when you hear the answers. I’m not a good person. I’m a fraud, a thief, a criminal. By all rights, I should be in prison.”
“Yes, you should be. And your uncle should be eviscerated and hung by his worthless worm of a cock from the top of the Empire State Building.”
A tiny smile broke across Charley’s face as she pictured such a perfect act of revenge.
But it didn’t last.
“Rudy’s already made arrangements to have me and my sister taken out if anything happens to him,” she said. “Besides, it’s entirely possible we’re dealing with more than just my sleazy uncle. More than just a crew of human criminals.”
“Rogozin,” Dorian whispered, fingers tightening on his glass. “Tell me about your connection to him, Charlotte. Please. I need to know what we’re facing here.”
Charley took a long, deep pull from her drink, steeling her nerves. She hated going back to that terrible day in her father’s car, that shady parking lot behind the pizza place and crappy apartment. But Dorian was right—she needed to put it all on the table.
She felt Dorian’s eyes on her, but she couldn’t meet them, focusing instead on the fireplace as she carved open her heart and gave voice to the story written in her scars, inside and out.
Where you off to, little girl?
Not so tough when Daddy’s not around, are ya?
Don’t struggle, D’Amico bitch…
She confessed it all, one painful word at a time, from the broken birthday promises to the stabbing to her stay at the hospital.
To the mystery that surrounded that day, even now.
“I don’t know who my attackers were,” she said at the end, her throat as raw as her nerves. “At this point, I don’t know if they were actual men, or demons, or something else. All I know is the client’s name—Alexei Rogozin. That’s who my father and uncle went upstairs to meet that day. Neither one of them ever mentioned him again, and I never asked. I don’t know if Rogozin ever found out what’d happened to his guys, or if he was the one to send them after me in the first place, or if he even cared. I have no idea if Rudy still deals with him or if that was their last meeting.” She took another deep drink, then shook her head. “For all I know, they’re old pals.”
Charley may have been an idiot, but she wasn’t stupid enough to believe her uncle was capable of any loyalty or compassion. Not when it came to her.
For a long time, Dorian sat in silence, staring into the flames. He didn’t move. Didn’t look at her. Didn’t even blink.
Charley closed her eyes. She couldn’t even imagine what was going through his mind.
Maybe he was thinking—just likeshehad in her own darkest moments—she deserved everything that’d happened to her.
“Fuck!” Dorian’s outburst tore Charley from her thoughts. Her eyes flew open just as he crushed his glass in his hand, slicing his palm. Blood and scotch dripped from his fist.
“I… need a few moments alone,” he finally said, cool and collected once again. “Please leave me, Charlotte.”
Charley was at a loss, the emotional roller coaster taking its toll. Rising to her feet, she glanced around the study, but couldn’t seem to make herself take a step. “I don’t… where should I…”
“There are thousands upon thousands of square feet in this manor, Charlotte. Inside and out. Take your pick.”
* * *
By the time Charley returned from her exile in the rose garden, the broken glass was gone and two fresh drinks sat on the end table, one for each of them.
