“Yes, my dear.”
What the fuck?How could Dad owe him so much money? Jesus Christ!
“How?”
“It all began when your poor father borrowed money to pay for his darling daughter’s rehab bill.” His smile widens.
“Oh my God,” I rasp out.
Me.
Dad borrowed money for me.
I was in rehab for over a year. Dad paid for everything. Did I think money grew on trees?
“Then he borrowed more money to try and save his wife when the insurance company stopped covering her treatment. I was so generous to him.” The devil feigns innocence and places a hand to his heart. “I even offered him a job when I noticed his talents. That’s when he really screwed with me. I gave him money to make something for me, and he fucking gambled it away.”
Oh fuck.
Gambling? Dad?
I would never believe my father would gamble, but the time for living with my head in the clouds is over. This is real. Shit just got real, and I need to do something about it.
There’s this opportunity they want to talk to me about. What is it?
“What do you want me to do?”
“Clever girl. Good we’re on the right page. I just found a way for you to help your papai to pay me back. Do it, and you and your father walk away alive. Don’t, and I will cut off his head right in front of you, then I’ll make use of you in other ways.”
My stomach churns when his eyes drop to my breasts, but that’s nothing in comparison to the vice around my heart squeezing the life from my body.
I’m not even thinking about the latter option. I don’t care about myself. What I care about is Dad, and I can’t let him die.
“I’ll do anything to save my father. Anything. What do you want me to do?”
When my tears drop onto the marble surface of the table, he reaches forward and cups my face. He catches a lock of my hair, looks over the vibrant red lock curling about his pale finger and seems fascinated with the color the way most people are when they first lay eyes on me.
My heart stills as I wait with a tormented breath for his answer. When he releases my hair and sits back in his chair, his expression hardens and I see the real him underneath the façade.
“Lucia,” he begins, and I hate the familiarity he uses with my name. Like he knows me. Knows everything about me.
Bastard.
“I require your expertise with languages and your experience of working with children.”
I give him a narrowed stare, not knowing why he’d need either of those things. “What for?”
“I have a job for you in Brazil.”
“Brazil?” I raise my brows.
“There’s a man I need information on. You’re going to help me get it.”
He makes it sound so simple, but I know it can’t be.
“How am I going to do that?” I stumble over my words.
“The man in question is looking for a nanny for his niece. You need to get the job.”