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As we walk through the door and to the car, I want nothing more than to go back inside and shower. I want to scrub the feel of Francia off of me—with bleach at the least and with fire if necessary. I want to forget she ever existed.
Not much longer until I can.
16
IVAN
I spot Marcus St. Clair the moment we walk into the cafe.
He chose an upscale spot downtown wedged between corporate office buildings. People in suits and ties charge through revolving doors and bark loudly into cell phones.
But Marcus is sitting in the empty restaurant with his hands folded politely on the table in front of him. His green eyes—the exact same shade as his daughter’s—study us as we arrive.
He stands up to greet us, radiating suspicion. “Hi,” he says, hand extended. “Marcus St. Clair. Nice to meet you.”
I shake his hand firmly. “Ivan Pushkin.” I watch carefully, but I don’t register any recognition of my name in his eyes.
“And I’m Yasha. I arranged the meeting.”
Marcus nods at my second and gestures towards the table. The moment we sit down, he leans forward. “So, are you lawyers for Alexander McAllister?”
I look at Yasha. “I thought you spoke on the phone.”
“We did,” Yasha says softly.
“And what did you talk about?”
“You want to meet concerning my daughter, Cordelia,” Marcus says. There’s a bite to his voice. He doesn’t like being talked around. Yet another trait he shares with his daughter. “In my experience, that usually means Alexander has something to do with it. I haven’t spoken to Cordelia in… well, it’s been a long time.”
Marcus says it matter-of-factly. No sense of shame or disappointment. Just a truth he’s acknowledging: he hasn’t played a role in his daughter’s life.
And he doesn’t seem to care.
But he really fucking should.
“If you haven’t spoken to your daughter, when was the last time you spoke to Alexander?”
“Even longer,” he says with a scowl. “Alexander likes to send in other people to do his dirty work. People like you.”
Yasha sits taller, locked and loaded to inform Marcus exactly how wrong he is. But I subtly wave him off.
“What kind of effort have you made to see your daughter?”
Marcus scoffs. He crosses his arms over his chest and I can tell exactly how well made his shirt is. It’s tailored for him and the cotton is thick. Proof enough that he’s doing well for himself. Just like Cora said, her father had more than enough money to take care of her and her mom.
But he didn’t.
Because of that, Cora ended up in the hands of Alexander. Her entire life was derailed. As glad as I am that it brought her to me, it also stole her from me. This man should have protected her, but he abandoned her.
I want to know why.
“Cordelia hasn’t missed me.” There’s anger in Marcus’s voice, but I get the feeling that there’s more happening here that I don’t understand yet.
“You think your daughter doesn’t want to know you.”
“I think no one has made any effort to include me, so I haven’t made an effort to be included,” he spits. “I thought maybe, once Cordelia was an adult, she would reach out and we could—well, it doesn’t matter. She didn’t. I assume she’s doing fine and I leave it at that.”
Marcus twines his fingers together, his jaw working back and forth.
