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Amara hesitated for a second before responding. “Cognitive Behavioral Therapy, specializing in trauma.”
“Ah,” he smiled, his white teeth gleaming against his beard. “Turning your experience into something positive. Very inspiring for a girl your age. I actually called you here because I feel responsible for what happened years ago. You live on my property and it was very wrong.”
God, he almost convinced her of that bullshit.
Amara simply stared at him, waiting for him to continue. Her silence made people uncomfortable, but Lorenzo Maroni simply measured her with those sharp eyes.
Standing up, he went to the wet bar at the corner. “The University of Shadow Port has an excellent Department of Psychology. They also have an accelerated program that allows students to finish credits and get their degrees in two years instead of four. Hard work, but plausible,” he said, pouring himself some whiskey from the crystal decanter, before turning to her. “I have an offer for you, Amara. I’ll pay for your entire education at one of the best universities in the country. In return, you simply stay there after your graduation and cut all ties with my son.”
Amara blinked at the man, her heart starting to pound – not at the offer but the fact that he wanted her out of Dante’s life.
She swallowed, fear infiltrating her system, making her breathing choppy as she slowly stood up. “With all due respect, Mr. Maroni,” she rasped out quietly, “I’ll decline.”
She turned to leave the room when his voice stopped her in her tracks. “Or your mother dies, Amara.”
She spun around on the spot, looking at him in shock.
He gazed back at her calmly. “This is for your own good, girl. My son might fancy you for now but in a month, a year, a few years at the max? He won’t. He’ll fuck you and he’ll be done. And one day, he will marry someone who fits him and take over the entire Outfit.” His voice almost gentled as every word hit her chest like a bullet. “I’m giving you a chance to choose a future for yourself, make a life for yourself, a clean slate.”
“And if I don’t make the choice you want,” Amara huffed in disbelieving laughter, “you kill my mother.”
“Yes,” he stated, with no remorse. “Take the weekend to think about it. I’ll book your tickets for the night of your graduation. You’ll have an apartment, a car, everything you need waiting for you. Except for your mother, who will stay here as insurance.”
Amara felt her eyes burn.
“Oh, and don’t think of telling my son,” Mr. Maroni continued, taking a sip of his drink, his face a mask of kindness. “You know his brother? He’s in a mental home. Dante loves him. You tell Dante and his brother will disappear and that, my dear, will be on you.”
Amara had thought she’d seen the worst of humanity when they had taken her. Looking at Lorenzo Maroni, she realized she hadn’t. True evil was like air pollution, inhaled without thought, seeping into the lungs, rotting from the inside out. It was invisible. Insidious. Sadistic. And Lorenzo Maroni was true evil.
Amara pushed her tongue to the roof of her mouth to keep her tears contained. Leaving the room, she walked out of the mansion into the bright day, her entire life changed in the span of a few minutes.
Amara looked at her mother across the kitchen island, gripping her hands. Her mother’s eyes reflected the same pain and rage she felt inside her bones.
“We can leave, Mumu,” her mother squeezed her hands. “Start somewhere fresh. We have enough savings.”
Amara shook her head, wiping her tear across her cheek. “The threat is for y
our life, Ma. It won’t matter where we go.”
A tear slid down her mother’s aging face. “You love him.”
Amara felt her own eyes water. “Yes,” she whispered softly, a secret just shared between the two of them.
“You always loved him,” her mother stated.
“Not like this,” Amara looked down at their joined hands, hers softer, younger, her mother’s rougher, more wrinkled. “He always had a bit of my heart, but I’m not that girl anymore. My heart isn’t the same anymore. This new heart, it doesn’t just love him, Ma. It beats for him.” Tears streamed down her face. “He came into this new heart to help me rebuild it, day after day, and he just never left.”
Her mother came around the counter to her side, wrapping Amara in her arms, cocooning her in that feeling of safety that always came with her, pressing kisses to her head. Amara broke down, knowing she had no choice. Her mother’s life, his brother’s life, they were precious. She couldn’t be selfish.
“You need to tell him, Mumu,” her mother spoke into her hair.
Amara pulled back. “I can’t risk his brother’s life.”
The older woman cupped her face, looking down at her firmly. “Dante is not a boy, Amara,” her mother said, using her given name, conveying her seriousness. “He’s been playing this game for a long time. He knows his father better than you do. Tell him the truth, tell him everything, and let him handle it.”
Amara bit her lip, so, so tempted. “But his brother-”
“Trust him,” her mother interrupted her. “He has been here for you, for years. That boy loves you. Don’t deny him the chance to handle this.”
