“Ottavia?” My eyes narrowed.
That name was familiar; I knew I’d heard it recently, but where?
Suddenly, my mind flashed back to that meeting a couple days ago in Killer’s office.Mr. Capuano’s got a daughter in college,I could hear Killer say.A sweet girl named Ottavia.
“No,” I murmured.
She nodded. “Ottavia Capuano.”
I stared at her, refusing to believe it. I was certain this was some kind of prank.
“No, you’re not,” I said, laughing. “Ottavia Capuano is Sal’s daughter.”
“Yes, and that’sme,” she said, her voice rising urgently. “I’m his daughter.”
That was impossible. That … that couldn’t be …
She pointed at the front of the house, the glass double doors swinging open. An imposing figure emerged from the mansion—Mr. Capuano himself. He strutted with a swaggering demeanor that confirmed that all the rumors I’d heard about him were true. His confident stride carried him down the front steps, exuding an intimidating air of authority.
“Hey, Dakota!” he yelled, waving at us to get out of the car.
“Dakota, do you understand what I’m telling you?” she asked, her voice rising urgently. “Sal Capuano is my father.”
“B-but …” I stammered.
Had Mr. Capuano played me? Was my lovely Olivia, no,Ottaviain on it? Was I about to get whacked?
I was about to fire the engine, drop the clutch and peel out—but Ottavia grabbed my hand and gave it a squeeze. “Just follow my lead, okay?”
“Yourlead?”
What?!
9
Screwed
Ottavia
Nothing felt real as Dakota’s car rolled along the familiar path to the house I’d called home for most of my life. Memories, etched into every corner of the property, flashed before my eyes, blending with the present in a disorienting blur, as if two separate worlds had merged. I felt trapped in a bad dream I couldn’t wake from. And just like in a nightmare, I couldn’t move or speak—all I could do was watch helplessly as the scenery passed by.
But this wasn’t a dream. This was real life.
And I should’ve known,I thought. Dakota was so tall, so athletic, and obviously had enough money, despite his age, that he could drive fancy sports cars and throw around tens of thousands of dollars for a ludicrous stunt like it was nothing.
Suddenly, I knew a lot more about Dakota’s situation. I’m not into sports, but evenI’dheard the chatter about one of Dad’s hockey players being caught partying last week.
It all seemed soobviousin retrospect. I was kicking myself for not putting it together earlier. But I’d missed it, and now Dakota was set for a head-on collision with my dad.
Poor boy,I thought, sneaking a glance at the dashing boy in the handsome suit. Sure, he was too cocky for his own good, and yes, he’d gotten himself into a serious mess with a bunch of lies. But part of this mess wasmyfault for not being honest with him, too.
And now we were in this messtogether.
Dakota pulled to a stop outside my house, and the throaty engine fell silent, mirroring the stillness that settled over me. It was time to face the inevitable. We needed a plan. Quick.
Okay, think,I told myself.He’s got to know the truth. It can’t wait any longer.
Dakota turned a ghastly shade of white when I broke the news. He looked ready to run—but running off wouldn’t do him any favors with Dad. On the other hand, I wasn’t ready to give up yet. But how could we pull this off with Dakota looking like he was ready to faint?
