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She doesn’t want me in L.A. for anything. When we last spoke about this, she was adamant that I attend Raventhorn University next fall.
I made her think I’d agreed. The argument we had was one of the things that pushed me to look at The Decadent Agency.
I don’t want my life to be tied to my mother and Cal. And I’m not comfortable having any link whatsoever to the Bratva.
Cal hasn’t been in my life long enough for me to fully know what to expect, but I know that what I suspect—which is danger—isn’t far off reality.
I don’t want anyone dictating to me whom I should marry or how I should live my life. Not to mention the threat of death and worry over threats in general.
Those are only some of the things to be concerned about, but they’re enough to give me every reason to want to leave.
I owe it to myself to find a way.
Mom sighs, and her face hardens. “The letter is about your application.” She turns the envelope so I can see it’s open—sheopened it.
“Youreadmy mail.” I glare at her.
“I know I’m wrong to have done that, but I couldn’t believe it when I saw it.”
“Mom, why are we having this conversation when you know what I want?” I bite down hard on my back teeth to tamp down my rage.
“Because I don’t want you there. Despite the fact that I’ve said so repeatedly, you do this.”
“UCLA is a good school with a great research program and the opportunity to go abroad for my research.”
“Sweetheart, UCLA doesn’t come close to Raventhorn University. When you go there, you will have the chance to go abroad and do whatever you want for your studies.”
She might be right, but like the academy, the university is run by the Bratva.
“I don’t want to go there.”
“Well, I don’t want you in L.A.”
“You don’t want me in L.A. because Dad will be out by the time I’m supposed to go to college.” I go in for the kill and stop pussyfooting around the truth.
“Yes. I don’t want you around him.” Her hands tremble, and her face colors fiercely. “I already warned you what would happen if you defy me, but it seems you didn’t take me seriously.”
My God, she’s actually gearing up to threaten me again. As if the first time wasn’t bad enough.
“I did take you seriously. Being threatened with being cut off when you have no money isn’t something you quickly forget. Dad might be bad, but he would never do that to me.”
“Don’t you dare compare me to that man.”
“It’s true. He would never put me in a position where I feel trapped. And if he had money, I wouldn’t even be here having this stupid conversation with you.”
“You think your father is such a saint, don’t you? Look what he did to all those people. Look what he did to our family.”
“He hurt people, but you both hurt our family, and I’m sure when he found out about you and Cal, it didn’t help.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I’m sure I do,” I say with insistence. “Nevertheless, nothing changes the fact that I’m your daughter, and you threatened to cut me off because I don’t want to do what you want me to do. What kind of bitch does that?”
The moment I get the words out, she slaps me across my face.
This has to be irony at its finest, or probably karma for the way I slapped Chad earlier. But he deserved it. I suppose I deserved the slap too, for calling my mother a bitch.
I didn’t mean to; the words just came out. However, right now, I think she deserved the label.
