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“Whatever you want,amo. I can handle the sale for you,” Renzo offers while he unlocks the door.
For the past three years, Dad’s handled all the finances, and Renzo took over when he kidnapped me. At some point, I’ll have to take back control.
I probably need to get a cellphone if I’m going to look for work.
I’ll have to update my resume.
I have no idea what my bank accounts look like.
“You okay?” Renzo asks as we walk through the foyer.
“I’m just thinking about everything I have to do. Dad took control of my life after the car accident, and then you happened.”
He tugs me to a stop at the foot of the stairs and turns me so I’ll look at him.
“What do you mean byeverything?”
“I need to sort out the bank accounts. I don’t have a cellphone. I want to start working again.” I gesture around the foyer. “I have to pack up everything.”
Lifting his hands to the sides of my neck, he leans down and holds my gaze captive. “I can do all of that for you.”
I take hold of his wrist and ask, “You won’t mind?”
“No,amo. Not at all. You’re mine, and it’s my job to take care of you.”
“You don’t think it’s pathetic that I let my dad handle everything?”
He shakes his head and pulls me against his chest. “No. You were on the brink of death and had to deal with a kidney transplant. If anything, I think you’re fucking strong.”
Closing my eyes, I let Renzo’s words sink in before I whisper, “I miss him.”
“I know.” Renzo brushes his palm over my hair. “But you have me, and I meant it when I said I’ll take care of you.”
I snuggle closer to the man who’s quickly taking over my heart. “Thank you.”
He holds me for a moment before he pulls away and says, “Let’s get everything you need.”
We spend the next couple of hours gathering the last of my belongings and going through Dad’s office for all the financial documents and his laptop.
“I’ll have to get Dario to break into the laptop,” Renzo says when we’re stopped by the device needing a password.
I try Mom’s birthday, and when the screen unlocks, I grin at Renzo. “His passwords are always my or Mom’s birthdays.”
“That makes things a hell of a lot easier,” he says as he shuts the laptop again. “Let’s get out of here.”
When we walk toward the foyer, I murmur, “Can I just have a minute alone before we leave?”
“Sure.” He presses a kiss to my forehead, then heads to the front door.
As I walk to the kitchen, I glance around my family home. The sorrow grips my heart, and I don’t fight the tears as they come.
In the kitchen, I trail my fingers over the counters where I’ve spent many hours practicing the art of cooking.
Dad ate every meal and never complained. He was my biggest cheerleader.
“God, I miss you so much, Daddy,” I whisper.
I think about how Louisa would complain about all the dirty dishes, but whenever I offered to help clean them, she’d shoo me away.
