My father’s words stab me right through the heart. “How do you know what happened?”
“Because you’re my daughter. I know everything you do.” He cuts through his rare steak, and blood drips from the meat. My stomach curls. I can’t stand the sight of it. He knows that, though. That’s why he ordered it.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask him if he also knew everything my mother did. I don’t. I’ve never really been the one to bring her up in conversation. I’m not going to start now. If she did escape him, he doesn’t know where she is. And I won’t be the reason he finds her either. Even if she left me behind to save herself.
The whole drive back to the penthouse, I’m torn between telling Carlo what my father wants me to do and trying to find the thumb drive. Seeing what’s on it and then deciding if I give it to him or not.
On one hand, telling Carlo means he’ll likely deal with it. Probably by starting a war. However, if I don’t and he catches me, he’ll never trust me again. And what little progress we’ve made will take us a hundred steps backwards.
He’s my husband. I should tell him. My loyalty is to him now. But then, the fear of my father’s wrath has always had me in a chokehold. What will the punishment be for defying him? I’m not too sure I want to find out. I also don’t want to go behind Carlo’s back.
I’ve never hated my father more than I do right now. I’ll never forgive him for putting me in this position.
Chapter Twenty-One
I’ve been called many things over the years. But I think my favorite has to be hearing Jazzy call meDaddy. If you would have asked me if I wanted kids a few months ago, the answer would have been a definitivefuck no. Now, I think she is the single most perfect thing I could have ever been given.
I haven’t left the penthouse since yesterday. Louie and Sammie are still out, looking for the fucker who shot at me.I’m itching to get my fucking hands on him. I want to deliver a message to this entire city, show 'em what happens if you put my daughter in harm’s way. Come after me all you want, but don’t fucking think you can come after my daughter.
“Daddy, are you scared?” Jazzy asks. She’s curled up on the sofa next to me, watching some princess movie while I work on my laptop. Sifting through the million fucking tasks I have going on right now. The to-do list just keeps getting longer and longer.
“Scared of what?” I ask her.
“Of dying?”
Death isn’t something that’s ever bothered me. I’ve never thought too much about it one way or the other.
“I’m not scared of dying,” I say. I am terrified of what will happen to her if I do, though. I’m her only parent. I know what happens to kids that get put into the system. That won’t be Jazzy’s fate. If I’m no longer around, I have no doubt Louie will take her on. I have the paperwork to prove as much.
“Mama said there’s a better place. For when we die. And that one day I’ll be able to see her again there,” Jazzy tells me.
“Do you want that?” I ask her. “To see her again?”
“She said I have to wait a really long time.”
I don’t want to shut this conversation down. It’s rare that my daughter talks about her mother, and even though I’ve found her name, I still can’t fucking find the woman herself.
“Do you know where she was going, Jazzy?” I press.
“Heaven,” she says.
Antonia said the woman looked sick.Is Wendy really dying?I need to find her before she does. I want some fucking answers.
“Do you know what was wrong with her?”
Jazzy shakes her head. “She just got sick. But that won’t happen to you too, will it?”
“I don’t think so,” I tell her.
“Okay,” she says before returning her attention to the screen.
I open my emails and send a message off to my PI, telling him to search for any Jane Does matching the description of Wendy at the morgues. I don’t know if she has anyone to claim her.
I do know that when the elevator dings, it’s Antonia. The driver informed me they were back. I hear her footsteps head down the hall towards the bedroom.
“I’m just going to talk to Antonia for a minute. You good here?” I ask Jazzy.
She nods her head, but doesn’t take her eyes off the screen.
