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I don't talk about this with anyone. Not even with my mom. But his presence is so comforting and protective, and the words come out before I can stop them.
"After my dad killed himself," I say quietly, looking away. "Don't give me pity, please. I wasn't close to him. He…was terrible, actually. When he wasn't drunk off his ass and terrorizing my mom, he was terrorizing me. He spent most of his time at casinos and always chose them over us." Then I look Domenic in the eye. "Including yours."
He doesn't look away, reading something in my eyes. "You got into hacking for revenge," he says quietly.
"Yeah. I did."
"It was an addiction, Loren. Alcohol and gambling are mild distractions to some. Harmless in doses. For others, they become crippling diseases. To get to the point he did, I'm sure your father believed he had little in the way of choices."
"Are you defending him? He put himself in that situation in the first place."
"Yes, he did. I'm saying this to point out that youdohave choices. You're not an addict, and your father's misdeeds are not your burden." He hesitates. "You began hacking to scam the institutions that did you wrong. I'm sure it became about money. You're not legally obligated to pay off your parents' debts."
Great, now I'm getting legal advice from a mobster. The irony.
"What's legal hardly matters to themanypeople my father borrowed from," I mutter. "Look, if you don't want me using my skillset like that to catch this fucker, that's fine. Maybe we can find some other way. Subject dropped."
He's quiet for a moment, watching me as I close out the many tabs and systems I had opened on the computer. I'm about to stand and march huffily out of the room when he speaks so quietly that I almost don't hear him.
"Did he hit you?"
I pause. Then I clear my throat.
"He was unpredictable when he was drunk. Sometimes it meant he got irritable and let the odd hand fly. My mom—" I tuck my hair behind my ear and check his face before looking away. The others can't overhear this at all, but I still don't enjoy discussing it. "I put her through therapy a while ago. He was nasty to her, mostly verbally. Sometimes I caught shit from him, too, but she protected me more than I ever realized until I got a little older."
I stand quickly, slinging my purse over one shoulder and not meeting his eyes. "So yeah. Now and then, he'd hit us. But I hit him back."
Domenic stands, too, face unreadable as he studies me. "You still mourned him," he murmurs. "Wanted revenge on his behalf."
"So?"
"So you're far more compassionate than I am. And despite everything that asshole has put you through, you're the strongest, most vibrant person I've ever met. You're a fucking force to be reckoned with, Loren."
I swallow and look away. He doesn't know the group I used to run with. The things I saw and never said a word about. Even though the people the Wild Seven punished were often horrible individuals, I couldn't handle it. He might think I'm compassionate, but I'm not. I'm just fiercely protective of my family because I'm scared of losing them like I lost my father.
That thought burns in my chest momentarily before a small weight lifts off my shoulders. I thought all this time that I was looking for revenge on my father's behalf despite how much I hate him, but I realize…I don't hate him.
I felt sorry for that man. He was still my father. We had good memories before all the bad ones, and the real reason I was so mad about him giving up like that was that I wouldn't ever get more good memories with him. He'd left when shit was tough, but there could have been more good after we got through stuff together. I'll never know now, but I can't go on feeling so angry and bitter about him when Domenic is right—he was sick. Addicted. I'm sure he hated himself in ways I didn't understand, and I won't share that sentiment anymore.
Moving on will take time, but maybe I can forgive him someday. In the meantime, Domenic is also correct that I started hacking from a dark need to retaliate. And where did that get me? Trouble. Non-stop trouble and danger.
Hell, the only reason the Wild Seven is after me now is because of my choice to join them in my quest for "vengeance." I'm the one who put my family at that level of risk. Not my father.
I think of the “lucky” coins in my purse. I created them in the height of my heyday with the Wild Seven, when I was determined to bring every casino that my father frequented to its knees. They’re every slot player’s dream hacking device. They’re powerful, just like my anger, hurt, and pain.
I kept digging my hole deeper for a long time, but not anymore. Just like I made my own luck through those coins, I’ll make my own choices going forward. No more hanging on by a thread. I'll help Domenic catch this other hacker without breaking more laws or endangering him or my other loved ones.
And then I'll move on. I’ll keep making my own luck. This time, I won’t do it for revenge, but for love of the people I still have around to make memories with.
"Thanks," I whisper to Domenic.
He's a man of few words, but he seems to know me better than anyone else. That soul-deep connection I sensed between us the first night we met is still there, even if I keep trying to run from it. And I'm so tired of running from it because the dangerous man now escorting me from the security room is the safe haven I never knew I needed.
And I fight the thought, but it's still there.
Maybe he really can be mine.
Yesterday night was like a dream. Or something out of the Twilight Zone, but in the best way possible.
