The Russian’s body convulsed on a sob. “I-I don’t know! McCrae said something about pulling the original reports. Maybe the results of the arson investigation? I don’t know!” he cried when I increased the pressure of my knife. “He just said he used his money and connections to make the whole thing go away as a personal favor to Fitzgerald, but he kept the original records for himself.”
I paused, scowling down at Kirill. He’d officially outlived his usefulness. I had a much more important target now.
Kelvin McCrae was one of the most influential men in New York. Getting to him would be my biggest challenge yet. Bigger even than kidnapping and interrogating Alexandra.
Something teased at the back of my mind. If what Kirill was saying was true, Alexandra’s mother had died under suspicious circumstances ten years ago, not simply in an accidental house fire.
My own family had been sent to prison ten years ago. The fire had famously happened around the same time; Ron Fitzgerald had nearly lost everything just as he was achieving his greatest victory: taking down the Mafia.
I’d never really thought about my enemy’s loss before. But now…
Alexandra’s wide, gemstone green eyes glittered across my thoughts. I had a terrible suspicion about what’d really happened to her mother. If I was right, she would definitely recoil from me in true horror.
The memory of our final moments together played through my mind, needling me with sharp, hot pinpricks of shame. She’d reluctantly allowed me to hold her while I walked her to her door; she’d been too irritated with me to remember to be afraid. But once we’d neared her personal sanctuary, she’d shuddered and cringed away from me.
She’d come to her senses and recalled what I really was: a monster in the dark.
She would never let me close enough to touch her again.
I shook my head sharply. I didn’t have a reason to touch her. Alexandra wasn’t going to report me to the authorities. My business with her was done. There was no reason for me to ever see her again. No matter how much I might want to.
Chapter 8
Allie
“Are you feeling okay, sweetheart? You look tired.” My father’s warm hazel eyes were soft with concern, but his mouth pressed in a thin, disapproving line.
“I’m fine!” I said, too quickly. I didn’t want him to think I was hungover, but telling him the real reason for the dark circles under my eyes was out of the question. No way could I risk revealing that Max Ferrara had been stalking me, and I’d spent a sleepless night haunted by the terrible, itching sensation that I was still being watched.
Nervously, I plucked at the cloth napkin in my lap to divert my anxious energy. If I shifted in my seat beneath the weight of his scrutiny, I wouldn’t have a hope of resisting his command for me to return to the safety of my childhood home.
Just as I feared, his brow wrinkled, and his chin took on the tilt of paternal seriousness that meant he was about to try to strongarm me into something I didn’t want to do. “Did you go out again last night, Allie?”
I didn’t dare lie. I was a terrible liar, and he’d know immediately if I completely fabricated something. Hedging the truth was my best shot at getting out of this. If he continued this line of questioning, he would demand that I come home where he could keep a protective eye on me.
I’d almost suffocated under the weight of his concern for my entire life. My dad loved me, but I couldn’t go back to that house. He would smother me, and I loved him too much to allow that old resentment to continue festering between us.
“Yes,” I admitted, my cheeks flaming despite my best efforts not to appear guilty. I hadn’t done anything wrong, but Daddy already thought I’d gone into work hungover yesterday. My only option now was to dig myself deeper into that hole and hope for the best. “I went out with Isabel, Davis, and Charlie. But it’s the weekend,” I said quickly. “I worked really hard at the office, and I was stressed by the end of the day. I needed to see my friends and relax a little. I’m twenty-one, Daddy,” I reminded him, barely managing to straighten my spine. “I can go out on a Friday night if I want to.”
His heavy sigh weighed on my shoulders like a ton of lead, and I shrank into my seat despite my best efforts. “I keep forgetting that you’re a young woman now,” he admitted. “It’s hard for me to see you struggling like this.”
My heart squeezed. It would almost be easier if he railed at me for being a failure. This fatherly concern made something crumble in my chest.
He rested an elbow on the table and propped his chin on his hand as he leaned toward me, our beautiful pancake brunch forgotten. In that moment, it was just my dad and me; the buzz of other late morning diners faded into the background, and my full focus centered on him as I waited for more of his censure. I barely breathed as the awful anticipation crushed my lungs, iron bands winding tighter around my chest with each passing second.
“I wish your mother were here.” His eyes began to shine, and a lump instantly formed in my throat. “She would know what to say. I know I’ve never been good at some of this parenting stuff. But I want to be here for you, Allie.”
“You are,” I said quickly, forcing the vehement words through my constricted airway. “You’ve always been here for me.”
He swallowed hard and managed a tight nod.
Oh, god. Daddy rarely talked about Mom, and when he did, it shredded both of us. Even though a decade had passed since the awful night when we’d lost her, he still loved her as keenly as ever. Our love for her and our loss cut like a knife, inflicting a permanent wound that would never fully heal.
The fire had claimed everything that night: our home, my mother, my childhood. Nothing had been right since the day she’d died. We’d both failed to save her as our house burned, the consuming flames taking her life along with everything else.
My screams still seemed to burn my throat, and the iron bands around my chest were the phantom weight of my father’s arms, restraining me from running back into the fire to save her.
“I miss her too,” I managed hoarsely, reaching out to clasp my dad’s hand. His fingers closed around mine, and he briefly squeezed his eyes shut. “I love you, Daddy.”
His grip tightened in a pulse of warm comfort. “I love you too.” He scrubbed at his red-rimmed eyes with his free hand and drew in a shuddering breath. “Sorry, princess. I didn’t mean to get emotional. Eat your pancakes.” He released my hand and tilted his head at my untouched meal.
Dutifully, I took a bite. The syrupy sweetness was cloying on my ashen tongue, but I managed to force myself to swallow. If I just acted normal, Daddy wouldn’t be so sad. I couldn’t stand to see him hurting. For so many years, he’d done everything he could to protect me, and in turn, I’d protected him by concealing the worst of my suffering. I couldn’t bear to add to his constant pain over the loss of my mother. So, I’d endured the bullying in silence. If he knew about it—if he knew that Gavin was still messing with me—he would definitely drag me back home and keep me close to ensure my safety and happiness.
He’d never been able to understand that I couldn’t be happy when I didn’t have any freedom. Going to college and meeting my friends had been the best thing that’d ever happened to me, and it was a minor miracle that he’d allowed me to move out on my own this summer.