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It wasn’t for the company.
Carmine could’ve invested the old-fashioned way if that’s all he wanted. True, he got his shares for a crazy good price, and that investment will pay out in multiples over the next few years barring anything wild, but the risk he took to make all that happen wouldn’t have been worth the modest increase in profit.
No, he did it for another reason.
He did it for me.
I think back to the baseball game. To the way he rubbed my face in the dirt. Then forward again, to his kiss, his lips and tongue, his body on mine. He took my virginity, he fucked me on the piano, he left a smear of my blood and his cum on the black lacquered wood, he did that and he practically shoved my face in it, and now I know he’s been fucking with me and my family from the start.
This goes back to him.
Back to Carmine.
That’s why he’s obsessed with making me hisfilthy girl. He’s a psychopath and he wants to ruin me. This is some sick, insane game for him, probably something he started back in college and now can’t stop, and if I let him, he’ll keep on dragging me down and down and down into the muck and I’ll lose myself in his grip.
I feel sick. I feel sullied. I want to cry but I can’t bring myself to find the tears right now. It’s like I’m breaking in half and nobody can see it.
I pull out my phone and scroll to his number with shaking hands.
He answers on the second ring. “Brice. Where are you?”
“Is it true?” I whisper and sweat drips down my forehead.
“Iswhattrue? What did your father tell you?” He sounds desperate.
Exactly how a guilty person would sound.
“Were you the one that leaked those documents to the FBI? Were you the one that got my father arrested? Did you start all this, Carmine?”
He’s quiet and each second of silence, each beat of my heart into that quiet void, is like a painful eternity. Finally, when he talks again, he sounds like someone’s strangling him from behind.
“We can talk about this, Brice. Walk away from your father. Go back to the house. Tell Angelo—”
“You did it,” I say and sink down to the floor, knees pulled up to my chest. “You really did it.” I don’t care who’s staring at me right now or what I look like. Tears streak down my face.
I thought we had something.
Something new, something budding—but something good. I gave myself to him. I let him have my body in a way I’ve never trusted anyone, and now I feel disgusting.
Just like he wanted.
“Brice—”
“I hate you.” The words come out like bile. “I hate you, Carmine Scavo. You ruined my life and I almost let you ruin me—” I choke off, sobbing once. He probably loves hearing me cry right now, the piece of garbage, he’s probably getting off on this and, god, I’m so stupid to ever have trusted Carmine.
“Just let me explain. Go back home, Brice, please.” He’s begging but it isn’t enough. The damage is already done. He’s the damage, and I’m finished.
“Goodbye, Carmine.”
I hang up the phone.
Daddy’s there then. He hugs me against him and I cry into his chest. I cry hard, feeling like a fool, hating Daddy and Grandpa and Carmine and Stephen and all the horrible men in my life. I cry and hate myself most of all for falling for Carmine’s bullshit, for almost wanting something better with him, for beginning to believe for one stupid second that he’s maybe more than the shallow gangster he pretends to be.
But I was wrong. Carmine’s nothing but a shark, a mindless and hungry shark, and he’ll consume me for fun if I let him.
“Come on, sweetie,” Daddy says, helping me to my feet. I’m sure people are staring and this is basically a Rowe’s worst nightmare. A display of emotions in public? How disgraceful. I was taught better. I should be better. But I’m not—I’m a broken and twisted thing barely keeping myself together with spit and tape and prayer. It’s like everything is cracking and falling to pieces. “I’ll take you back to Texas. We’ll figure this out, honey, I promise.” He gives me a sad smile. “Rowes do what’s right. Right, honey?”
Rowes do what’s right.The phrase echoes in my mind.
