“You never tell me what you do during the day,” she protests.
“You don’t care. Trust me,” I murmur, kissing her again.
How can I tell her that I went with some of my father’s men and we met with someone who hasn’t repaid a loan we extended him six months ago? That I had to threaten him and then watch while they roughed him up some? That sounds like some criminal shit because guess what?
Itiscriminal, what we’re doing. We bribe and steal and smuggle—that’s our business. My father is always up to no good, and I’ve already fallen directly into his footsteps. Like I’m the fallen angel in this situation, giving in to my father’s demands only because we’re bound by blood.
Deep down though, there’s a part of me that…likes what I do. Working with my father, handling all of the accounting for the business, amongst other things. I’m the chief financial officer of one of the biggest smuggling operations in the city, not that I can show the title off.
I also hate what I do, specifically in this moment. What will Sylvie think when she finds out everything? Will she hate me? Think less of me? Push me away? Will she believe me when I say that I tried, but I can’t fight it? That I was born to do this?
I can’t escape my life. The only way I could leave is if I fled to another country and changed my identity. And I can’t do that to my dad.
He needs me.
“But I do care.” She shoves at my chest, making me pull away from her. “I don’t want any secrets between us.”
“It’s not a secret, what I do.” Shame washes over me at the thought of telling her, of watching her expression slowly but surely turn more and more horrified with every word I said.
No. I can’t risk it.
“It is to me.” She dodges my seeking lips, her hands curling into the fabric of my T-shirt and giving me a gentle shake. “Tell me.”
An aggravated sigh leaves me and I deposit her onto the bed, rising to my feet. “No.”
I march out of the bedroom, headed for the kitchen, feeling like a complete shit. Damn it, I’m not proud of what I do for my father. I knew this moment was coming, that Sylvie would want to know, but I don’t want to tell her.
Not now. Not when I’m her hero. Once she finds out the truth, she won’t look at me the same.
I know I don’t look at me the same, that’s for damn sure.
I’m pouring myself a glass of whiskey when she enters the kitchen, bringing her fury with her. Her face is flushed and her eyes are wild, her entire body practically vibrating with anger.
“You can’t walk away from me like that,” she admonishes, her tone haughty.
“I just did.” I take a gulp of the whiskey, finishing it off in two swallows before I pour myself another. “Want a drink?”
“Only if I can throw it in your face,” she retorts.
“No whiskey for you then.” I sip from my second pour, taking it slow so I don’t get drunk too fast and say something I might regret.
Too late, I think.
She scoffs, positively scandalized. “Sometimes you’re so sweet, like the Spence I used to know, and then you turn into a complete dick, like how you’re acting right now.”
“I’m just…protecting you.”
Sylvie rolls her eyes, reaching out to grip the edge of the counter. “From who? You?”
I swallow thickly, shoving the glass across the counter. “Sometimes I do…not so nice things in the name of my father’s business.”
“Like what? Off someone? Are you in the mob or what?”
I say nothing, just stare at her, and the longer the silence grows, the wider her eyes get.
“You’re full of shit,” she whispers.
I grab the glass, taking another big gulp, still remaining silent.