Chapter Thirty-Seven
The room was freezing, and I was only wearing a thin jacket. “Can you turn the heat up?” I asked my father, my teeth chattering and my hands shaking. I’d spent the last hour or two, who knew how much time had passed, peppering him with questions. None of which he’d answered.
“There’s no heat in here,” he told me.
I looked around, not surprised. I’d grown up poor, but my mother’s brownstone looked like a palace next to this dump.
“You haven’t asked about Mikey,” I told him. It was a random thought, but I’d been working for the last hour to get my father to see me as something more than just a commodity. I was trying to remind him that I was his daughter, and that that should mean something.
So far, I wasn’t sure if it was working. When he looked at me, his eyes were devoid of emotion. This wasn’t the man who’d walked out on his family all those years ago. That man had left because he thought his kids would be better off.
I don’t know if the one sitting before me even cared that he had children.
“He’s sick, ya know,” I told him. “Brain cancer. We’ve been trying to slow the progression down for years, but so far, no luck.” I closed my eyes, tears forming as I thought about my brother.
I prayed that Marco would still do right by him, even when I was gone.
“Marco was able to get him into a new medical trial, but it’s been pretty touch and go over the last few years.”
I wanted to mention how broke we’d been, and how my mother had dealt with the blows of life by burning herself deeper and deeper into a bottle, but I didn’t. I was too scared to bring up my mother, worried it would put him on edge.
I placed my hand on my stomach, trying to keep the little bit of body heat that I was creating close. I worried that the stress of this situation, the coldness, would hurt my unborn child.
“You need to let me go,” I said. As the minutes ticked by, I was becoming more and more worried about what was going to happen next, especially now that it was getting later.
My father kept his eyes forward and said nothing.
“I’m pregnant,” I reminded him. “And your daughter. I’ve never asked you for anything…” He hadn’t been around long enough for me to ask, but that was beside the point.
He sighed. It was the first time he’d broken since he told me that the people he owed money to were going to come for me, and that they were enemies of the Blanchi family. “They aren’t going to do anything to you,” he told me.
I snorted. I had been part of the Blanchi family long enough to know that my father was full of shit. “You can’t honestly believe that.”
“They want some sort of territory,” my father said. “And they are just going to use you to negotiate that agreement.”
I rolled my eyes. I didn’t believe that for a second, “Marco wouldn’t give up anything to get me back,” I told him.
This time my father shook his head sardonically at me. “You don’t think that your husband would give up territory for you and his child?”
I didn’t respond to the question. I didn’t feel like getting into my relationship with Marco with the man who’d abandoned me and killed me.
“I’ve been following you since your wedding. I can assure you that your husband would give up anything to make sure that you are safe.” I wanted to tell him that he was full of shit, but instead, I let it go. I didn’t want to argue what Marco would and wouldn’t do, especially because I was right.
“Even if Marco wanted to trade territory or whatever, he’s not in charge of those decisions. He’s not the Don of the Blanchi family.” While I wasn’t going to give my father the idea, I knew that he would have been better off grabbing Sasha if the men that he worked for wanted territory. “See,” I said. “You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself involved in.”
There was a knock on the door startling both of us. My heart started slamming against my chest once more. Whoever was on the other side was my enemy.
“Dad,” I begged. I pulled at the handcuffs trying to break them apart. It was useless. “You need to let me go.
He stopped in the middle of the room and turned to look at me. His eyes, which were so much like my own, held a little bit of warmth.
“Please,” I begged, as the pounding grew. “You have to help me.” I pulled on the handcuffs until I felt my skin split against the middle. I was desperate to get away.
“I’m sorry,” he told me. He resumed his way towards the door before he reached out and opened it.
My breath stopped in my lungs.
“Why the hell took you so long?”