“I think I might have made a mistake with Aida,” I tell him.
He peers at me through his glasses, thrown off balance. That’s not what he expected me to say.
“What do you mean?”
“I was cold and demanding. Cruel, even. Now it might be too late to start over . . .”
My father crosses his arms, leaning against the desk. He probably doesn’t want to talk about this. I don’t want to talk about it, either. But it’s eating me alive.
“She didn’t seem to be holding a grudge last night,” he says.
I sigh, looking out the window at the high rises opposite.
Aida always rolls with the punches. That doesn’t mean she wasn’t hurt. And that doesn’t mean it will be easy to win her over. She’s a tough nut. What will it take to truly crack her open, to find that vulnerable core inside?
“When did you fall in love with Mom?” I ask, remembering that my parents’ marriage wasn’t exactly traditional, either.
“I’m not a sentimental person,” my father says. “I think we’re alike in that way, you and I. I don’t think much about love, or what it means. But I can tell you that I came to trust your mother. She showed me that I could rely on her, no matter what. And that’s what bonded us. That’s when I knew I wasn’t alone anymore. Because I could count on one person, at least.”
Trust as the essence of love.
It doesn’t sound romantic, not on the surface.
But it makes sense, especially in our world. Any gangster knows that your friends can put a bullet in your back just as easily as your enemies—even easier, in fact.
Trust is rarer than love.
It’s putting your fate, your happiness, your life in someone’s hands. Hoping they keep it safe.
My phone vibrates again.
“Give me a minute,” I say to my father, stepping out into the hall to take the call.
“I saw her for a second,” Jack says. “She was at a restaurant with some guy. He gave her something, a little box. She put it in her bag.”
“Who was the guy?” I ask, mouth dry and hand clenched tight around the phone.
“I don’t know,” Jack says apologetically. “I only saw the back of his head. He had dark hair.”
“Was it Castle?”
“I don’t know. They were sitting on the patio. I went into the restaurant—I was going to try to get a table so I could get closer and listen in. But while I was inside, they left. And I haven’t been able to find her again.”
“Where’s her car?” I demand.
“Well, that’s the weird thing,” I can hear Jack breathing heavy, like he’s walking and talking at the same time. “The Jeep is still in the same parking lot. But Aida’s gone.”
She must have left with the guy.
FUCK!
My heart is racing, and I feel sick.
Is she with him right now?
Where are they going?
“Keep looking for her,” I bark into the phone.