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Rhett shut the door behind him, and as I heard his and Isaac’s footsteps ascend the stairs, I faced Father with my lips pursed in a snide smirk.
“If you ever in your life pull a stunt like that again—”
“C'è qualcosa che vuoi dirmi, padre?”
Father blinked at me, and the glass he was holding slipped out his grasp, shattering once it hit the floor.
“Your daughter, huh?” I said again, scoffing softly in disbelief as Father began stuttering to himself, his bruised skin pale.
“How-how did you...”
“Italian is one of the Advanced Prep courses offered at the academy. I guess it must’ve slipped your mind that I’ve been an A+ student in that class since I was a freshman.”
“Ph-Phantom,” he stuttered again. “S-son...”
“Do they know?” I asked, watching as he grabbed a whole bottle of bourbon and chugged five large mouthfuls down in less than five seconds.
Sweat dotted his forehead as he breathed in hard, trying to gather his wits but failing miserably.
“Fucking answer me! Do they know?”
He shakily shook his head. “No, they don’t know.”
“And how is it that Samara doesn’t recognize you?” I wondered, pretending to think about it albeit I’d already figured that out on the way to the tattoo shop. “Oh, wait... There’s this ridiculously expensive thing called plastic surgery.Right, Father?”
“Does she know?” he asked, his voice an anxious rattle.
“Not yet, she doesn’t. She will soon though, because you’re going to tell her. You’re going to break the news to all—”
“XAVIER!”
Samara busted in through the door with Jace right behind her, tears running down her cheeks.
“She’s not here!”
Jace wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close as she sobbed harder.
“Ginger... She-she’s gone!”
Forty-Four
Finn
Iletoutagroan as I was literally pummeled awake Thursday morning, already tasting blood before Damien could curl his other fist and deck me again. As soon as I get my hands on Claxton and Twitch, they were dead fucking meat.
The bastards sold me out. Damien went fucking ballistic when he discovered Cindy was dead, and out of fear of being slaughtered, Claxton and Twitch told Damien all about how I paid them to abandon their post. I’ve been held hostage and tied to a chair in Damien’s office for well over thirty, maybe thirty-five hours now.
And to make matters worse, he had my fucking phones. Yes, both of them. Damien had no feasible proof that I killed Cindy, but if he went through those phones…
I might as well make peace with what little time I have left.
Fuck.
I’m so sorry, baby.
“I’m awake, god damnit,” I growled, moaning in pain as I spat blood at his feet. “Fuck!”
I blinked up at him, my worst fears brought to life as he reached inside his gray suit pocket and pulled out my personal cell, showing me a full display of my text messages between Uncle Xavier, my cousins, and worst of all, Ginger. The ones with her were older messages, before she’d fled the country. When we were talking about getting married and running away together to start a family.
