Page 56 of Contempt

“So, I can never get back out?” Renzo asked.

Lucian gave him a look. “I see your smart mouth has become sharper over these last few years.”

Renzo shrugged. “Yeah, well, gotta keep something for myself.”

“Get in the fucking car, young man.”

Hell, that was better than the kid he used to call Renzo.

Unfortunately, Lucian didn’t seem like he was joking, or that he was giving Renzo a choice about getting in the car. Renzo stepped in, and the door shut behind him. Lucian slipped into the car on the other side, and the driver up front barely looked at the two of them in the rearview mirror as he pulled out of the hotel’s lot. They drove for a good forty-five minutes, long enough to be all the way on the other side of the city, or damn near, before Lucian started speaking again.

“I want to make sure you know what you’re doing here—with Lucia, I mean. She’s … strong, or that’s how she seems,” Lucian murmured, never looking away from the window. “So strong and stubborn, in fact, that I can count on two hands the amount of times she’s had a real conversation with me before these last few weeks that she’s been back home. She hated me for what happened, and perhaps, rightfully so. She’s more like me than I gave her credit for, too. I always thought my boy was more like me than any of my daughters, but clearly, I was wrong.”

“Why is that?”

“Only Lucia can hold a grudge like me.”

Renzo chuckled.

Even Lucian grinned a bit.

“Nonetheless,” Lucian added, still watching the buildings pass them by, “she seems strong, but there is still a very broken part of her that is barely holding it together. I suspect it falls back to what happened, and you, but she keeps it guarded. I want to make sure you understand that—you’re back in her life, then you need to recognize her—”

“Wait, you came to talk to me about how I should treat Lucia?”

Because wow, that was a one-eighty from the Lucian he used to know. The Lucian he used to know would have threatened to cut off his arms for stepping anywhere near his daughter.

Lucian finally glanced away from the window, and gave Renzo a tired smile. “Things have changed, haven’t they? I thought you knew that when I came to visit you in the prison with the offer about The League?”

Maybe so.

Renzo had still wondered if it really did change, though.

“I heard you’re sick,” Renzo said quietly.

Lucian’s jaw hardened for a second, but just as quickly, he nodded. Using one hand, he grabbed the edge of his suit jacket and the silk shirt underneath. Moving the fabrics to the side, he flashed the port in his chest.

Renzo swallowed hard. “Sorry about that.”

And he was.

Regardless of the shit between them, the bridges burned, and all the things that still needed to be said about what happened, Renzo wouldn’t wish sickness on anyone. He just wouldn’t—he wasn’t the type.

“Don’t pity me—I hate that.”

“I feel a lot of things for you, Lucian, and pity isn’t one of them. That doesn’t mean I can’t apologize for something horrible that’s happening to you. It isn’t the same thing. That’s called sympathy and empathy. Despite whatever you might think The League did to me, they didn’t take away the fact I am human. They just made me a stronger one.”

“A better one, maybe,” Lucian murmured.

Maybe.

Renzo wasn’t going to think about it.

“The five-year deal isn’t up yet with The League, correct?” Lucian asked him.

Goddamn.

“I know the five-year deal isn’t up yet,” Renzo returned, aching in his chest with every word that he spoke. “Trust me, I know exactly how much longer I have before it is. I know every single day.”