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“Why don’t we sit down?”
I clench my fists. “I don’t want to sit down. I want to know what the fuck is going on.”
“I didn’t want you to know. It’s not good for your health to get worked up about things. I guess I was stupid to think I could continue to hide it from you after we came here. You’re an adult now. I shouldn’t have kept trying to protect you.”
Hot tears prick my eyes and blur my vision. “What are you talking about?”
I knew, didn’t I? I can’t be angry only at Mom; I’ve been lying to myself. I kept thinking there was more, but I never took it upon myself to read up on anything I could find out about my father’s death. I suppose I’ve been scared to really know. I liked having my head in the sand to a degree, and now it’s been well and truly pulled out into the light.
She walks over, takes my hand, and pulls me to sit beside her on the couch. “Your dad wasn’t just a businessman. I mean, he was, but the businesses he was involved in weren’t exactly legitimate.”
My jaw drops. “What?”
“That’s how I ended up on Nataniele’s radar. He…heard about your father’s death and contacted me.”
“With a marriage proposal?”
This still isn’t making any sense.
“Marrying Nataniele wasn’t agreed on because of what you did. I’d already been in contact with him. I’d already agreed to the wedding and starting a new life. I just hadn’t told you about it yet.”
“What? Why?”
“We owed money, Mackenzie.”
“Yeah, I know, because of my medical bills.” I sigh.
She nods. “Your medical bills were part of the reason we ended up owing money, and I hate having to say that to you because I never want you to feel to blame, or that your illness is a burden. It wasn’t all of it, though. Once you get stuck in a cycle of debt, it can be hard to get out of. There were other debts, ones we took onboard to be able to do normal things like buy Christmas presents, but it was the people we owed money to that was the problem.”
“Wait…what?”
I thought the revelation that we were living in a fucking mafia college was enough of a blow for one day, but now I’m learning that not only was my father one of them but also that part of the reason we’re here is because of my illness leading my parents into a spiral of debt. No matter what my father did, and no matter what my mother says, at the end of it, they wouldn’t have been in that mess without me. A tear spills down my cheek.
My mother continues. “The people we owed money to are dangerous. They threatened us—threatened you—unless I paid it, but how could I? I had nothing.”
I blink back tears. “Oh, my God.”
“This isn’t your fault, Mackenzie. I don’t want you thinking that. It’s not your fault you have a condition.”
My sadness morphs into something new. I’d believed everything was my fault, but it most certainly isn’t my fault that my father was a goddamned criminal. I find my whole childhood reshaping in my mind. We’d always had nice things, fancy vacations, a nice home, despite the medical bills. I’d believed we’d had those things because my father ran a successful import and export company. Yes, things got tougher the last year or so before his death, and I knew they were struggling for money, but before then, had they been in debt to these people way back? Now I have to question exactly what he was importing and exporting.
My dad isn’t the only one I’m questioning.
“Did you know?” I ask Mom. “Did you know what he was involved in?”
Her gaze cast down, she nods.
“How bad was it? I mean did he traffic people? Murder people?”
It occurs to me that the apple hasn’t fallen far from the tree. I’d believed killing Paxton had been an accident, but what if it hadn’t been? What if it had been instinct—a killer’s instinct passed on to me from my criminal father?
She flinches, and her face pales. “My God, Mackenzie, you knew your father.”
“Did I?” I interrupt.
“Yes. You knew what mattered, and he wouldn’t have done that. Couldn’t have done it.”
I sneer at her naïve words. “That’s an awful lot of trust, Mom, in a man who left us in debt with people who would harm us unless you sold yourself to another man.”
