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Todd Davis’s voice filters through the speaker after a few more strained moments of crackling, immediately diving into the depravity that is the senator and his cohorts.
“You’re lucky Sheldon got to fuck that daughter of yours years ago. No way would he take her now, especially after she’s been sold to the goddamn mob. Imagine how many of Montalto’s men are using her over there.”
Elia winces at my side, and I know he doesn’t like being referred to as a bidder in a flesh auction. That, to him, the amount of money he paid for my hand and Juliet’s safety was more of a dowry than anything else.
I’m not stupid. I knew there was something more to my father letting me marry Elia over someone else he had picked out. It was better than any alternative.
My father’s raspy laugh fills my ears; it feels like someone driving a spike through my brain. “She’s young enough that if I can get my hands on her again, it won’t matter. Not as young as when he had her, but still. Theory of elasticity, or whatever that is. We could probably make her useful again. Problem is, the terms Montalto set up in our contract mean I can’t touch her sister, either. So, I don’t know how the fuck I’m going to pay anyone back.”
“Keep doing what you’re doing. You’re bound to come into a position of power high enough to just lock the fuckers up you owe money to, or make those debts disappear entirely.”
“They aren’t exactly on the books. I doubt these gangs keep electronic records.”
I watch my father pale, eyes darting between Elia and me, and he laughs, fidgeting with the collar of his shirt. He walks over to a speaker and bends, ripping the cords from the back. It doesn’t stop the audio, though, and he turns to a guard and another aide, waving his arms. I can hear him—high-pitched and slowly coming undone—from my seat at the table.
My mother looks shell-shocked, as though she had no idea any of this was happening, but I know that’s not true. You can’t be married to a man and be completely oblivious to what draws his attention.
I don’t feel bad. Only relieved.
“You could keep using that kid to skim from the Montalto warehouse,” Todd says, and Elia’s hand flexes beneath mine as if itching to go up there and beat my father himself.
Part of me wants him to. The sick, depraved part that finds his brand of violence attractive. Like he’s my personal vigilante.
Still, I know why we’re doing this instead. It’s clean, appropriate, and more fun than letting my father rot in a grave somewhere.
Juliet turns in her seat with tears in her eyes, reaching across the table to clasp my free hand. I wish I could’ve involved her in the plan, but it needed to go off without any hiccups. It was tonight or never.
Everyone in King’s Trace knows about the Montalto drug racket; more than half of the residents are semi-frequent buyers, using rent money to buy a gram. But Elia’s not pretending to be something he’s not, the way my father is.
I take a sip of my ginger ale as the audience erupts into hysterics, the audio droning on and on, detailing the entirety of my father’s illegal activities like Bond villains and their last monologue.
How Gia was able to bug my father’s home office is beyond me, but it’s clear neither man had a clue they were being monitored.
Luca appears out of nowhere, his hand gripping my shoulder just as my father finds an extra mic, attempting to quiet the crowd and reassure them that these recordings are entirely falsified.
Gazettereporters swarm the stage, and Elia grasps the sides of my face, dragging my gaze to his. “Go now. Before they look for your bones to feed on.” I nod, and he brings me to him, kissing me quickly. My mouth opens, a confession on my tongue, but he shakes his head, pressing his hand over it. “Not here. Later.”
And even though it pains me to leave him there to clean up my mess, to give control to this man who’s so quickly become an integral part of my very being, I do. Because part of ruining my father includes following through with this.
Juliet gets up with me, hooking her arm through mine, and we shoulder our way through the crowd of elegantly dressed people, pushing past even when they notice us and try to swallow us whole. Luca trails close behind, a hand on each of us, propelling us forward.
We get to a dark alcove at the back of the center, which is an old colonial-style building with a wrap-around driveway. Headlights flash through the tall windows as cars pull up and away from the building, and Luca does a quick once-over of the area we’re in, ducking behind curtains and potted plants to ensure we’re alone.
Once he’s satisfied with our solitude, he pulls the two of us into a big hug. He’s not happy about the turn of events, especially considering the feelings he still seems to harbor for me; but in the interest of loyalty to his boss and to me as family, he agreed to continue helping with my plan.
It helps that I’m still aiming for ruination.
“Okay, you two stay here. I’m gonna go out and make sure Benito’s waiting, and I’ll beright back.” Pinning me with a pointed look, he cocks an eyebrow. “Seriously. Don’t wander off.”
I roll my eyes. “I have no interest in going back there.”
Nodding, he turns, disarming the alarm on the emergency exit, and slips outside. Silence envelopes us as we stand and wait, the clinking of glasses and indignant shouts coming from other areas of the art center.
Juliet brushes her hands over the material of her short, satiny red dress, tucking a strand of hair back into her updo. “Caroline, I—”
Holding my hands up, I cut her off. “Don’t. Don’t apologize for things you weren’t aware of.”
Tears well up in her eyes, and my nose burns at the effort it takes not to join her.Stupid hormones.“But Ishouldhave known. All this time, you’ve been... God, what he did to you. And I’ve been an idiot, thinking you were being dramatic and milking the white knight complex. I feel like an asshole.”
