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I met Luca's gaze again, and his features softened this time, but only for a moment.
I narrowed my eyes at him and spoke firmly and unwaveringly, "This is not a fairytale, Luca. This is a dangerous game you’re playing.”
His expression changed to a cold sort of indifference. “That’s what I’m banking on.”
I took a deep breath and steadied myself.
This man was freaking incorrigible. He wanted destruction. He wanted to watch the world burn.
“Your old man is the one who shot up my club,” he said, the indifference still hanging on. It was like a mask, tight and unwavering. “Well, his men, anyway.”
There was no way my dad could be the same man he was talking about.
I had never seen my father raise a hand to anyone or anything.
Let alone shoot up a club full of innocent people.
“Where did this club shooting take place, anyway?” I asked.
He smiled menacingly. “That, my dear, is none of your goddamn business.” The mask of indifference was off, replaced with something much darker.
It was at that moment that I realized the man in the room with me — the man I’d slept with — was one of the most dangerous men I’d ever met.
But I couldn’t let that scare me now.
I couldn’t let it break my spirit.
I was going to get to the bottom of all of this. I was going to know everything I needed to about the shooting in the club. How there was no information in police records. How my father was involved. And then, I was going to get the hell out of here.
I was Annabelle Betrami.
I took another drink of water, the moment growing more tense the longer he was in the room. I wanted to claw out his eyes.
“Do you really think he’s innocent?” he taunted.
His cold words brought more weight to his presence.
“So, when are you going to talk to him?” I asked. “To give him his options?”
“Soon.”
If this was true, how could I have been so blind to my father’s involvement? How the hell could he have been in this world?
It would have been a betrayal.
He knew how I felt about the mafia.
Memories replayed in my mind as I searched for clues I might have missed. If this was possible, they would have had to have been there. The late nights when he returned home with bloodshot eyes, I always thought were due to extra shifts.
Not a second life.
There had been hushed conversations and whispered phone calls now that I think about it. I thought nothing of any of it at the time. I assumed they were the normal things that men hid. Gambling, sex … those kinds of things.
Thinking about him doing some of the unspeakable acts I had been investigating was bone-chilling.
Anger surged within me, directed not only at him for his possible hidden life but also at myself for being naive if this all ended up being true.
I mean, sure, I wanted to believe Luca was wrong.
