“Your son deserves prison and don’t pretend like anyone forced you into anything. If your son escapes to Russia, imagine what that’ll do to Brice. She’ll be a fucking mess.”
“It won’t happen.”
“No, it won’t, because I’m going to make sure it doesn’t.”
“What are you planning?”
“I’m planning on doing what has to be done. Stick to business, Graham, and I’ll deal with the dirty work.”
I hang up on him, too disgusted to wait for his response. My head’s spinning as I consider what would happen if her father really does try to run to Russia. The stupid Russians might even take him in and I can’t imagine what the US Government will say about that, and shit can easily spiral out of control considering how much tension there is between our two countries right now. I don’t know why the fuck I’m suddenly forced to think about international politics when the only thing I want to think about is Brice sitting in my lap and wiggling but here I am.
The worst part of it all is her father doesn’t give a damn about anything. The selfish prick is only thinking about one thing and that’s his comfort. He’s so broken that he can’t imagine going to prison even if he truly deserves it and even if it would be the cushiest prison experience possible. He’d rather put his entire family in danger than slum it for a couple years. The stupid bastard is a worthless prick and I can’t believe Brice ever looked up to him so much.
I want to kill him. Every fiber of my being wants to hunt him down, wrap my hand around his neck and squeeze. I want to see him choke, turn purple, collapse into nothing, and I want him to know he’s dying because he treated his daughter like cattle.
Instead, I’m going to hold back. Even though the old Carmine would’ve loaded up and gone to beat her father senseless, I’m trying to be a better man. I’m trying to think about what’s best for her since nobody else will and I don’t think hurting her father will make anything easier.
There’s some rustling in the bedroom and the door cracks open. Brice looks out at me and wipes sleep from her eyes. She’s wearing a pair of boy short panties and a tight tank top and her hair’s a mess from sleeping on her side and, fuck, she looks perfect as the morning light slants in through the huge windows overlooking the downtown. I stare at her, heart beating a steady rhythm, and all my uncertainty disappears like smoke in front of a fan. She smiles at me, crosses her arms over her chest, and looks a little awkward.
“Morning,” she says. “Were you talking to someone?”
“Your grandfather. Want coffee?”
She nods. “What were you talking about?”
I walk over to the little pod machine and brew her a cup. “Your father and his antics. Here, have some of this before we get into that.”
She accepts it gratefully but stays in the middle of the room. I keep my distance from her, not sure where we stand yet, and I’m like a violin string mid-vibration. All my energy is tearing around inside of me, begging for a release, and she’s only looking at me over the steaming cup like she’s not sure what she wants to say. Why is she coming out here looking like that? In only a pair of underwear and a tank top? She knows what I’m thinking right now and she doesn’t seem to care, and fuck, it drives me wild.
“Let me—” she starts.
I say, “I can tell you—”
We start speaking at the same time. She smiles and laughs awkwardly, and I run a hand through my hair. Why the fuck is this uncomfortable? Where is this tension coming from? I want to throw her over my knee and spank her ass raw and sink myself between her legs, but most of all, I want to get on my knees and apologize until she comes running over. “You go first,” I say softly.
“Right.” She clears her throat. Sips more coffee. Puts the mug down on the table and clasps one elbow with her hand. I try to keep my eyes from straying to her body but she’s not wearing very much clothing and it’s goddamn fucking distracting. “Okay, so let me ask you something. Did my grandfather say anything about me?”
The question surprises me. I hesitate but shake my head. “No, he didn’t mention you.”
“Did you?”
“Yes, I did.”
“Right.” She turns her face away. “Okay. That’s what I figured.”
“Brice—”
“It’s fine. Really, it’s fine. I know how they feel about me, and I guess I was just making sure I wasn’t making a mistake, but they really don’t care, do they?”
“They’re your family.” I step closer to her. “They care.” Although we both know that might not be true.
She laughs softly and looks at me, blinking tears from her eyes. “Come on, Carmine. You think the world is a black hell-hole of despair and you’re really telling me you think my family cares about me? Do you know how many times I’ve heard from my uncles? My cousins? Exactly zero. None of them have checked in on me. None of them have wondered if I’m okay. Nothing. Total silence.”
“I don’t think the world is all darkness,” I say softly and she chews on her lip. That look on her face fucking kills me, like she’s trying to decide if she wants to scream or cry or maybe both. I move closer, wanting to touch her so badly, but there’s still an invisible wall between us. “I think we come from monsters. Your family, my family, they’re not so different. They only care about themselves and nothing else. At their core, they don’t really care what happens to anyone but themselves. They’ve been using us up for years and years, and you’re only just now starting to try to break free. The only reason I’m free is my father died. But that doesn’t mean the world’s all bad.”
“Yeah? Tell me what changed your mind.” She stares into my eyes and doesn’t back away when I stand close enough to smell her. I reach out and brush my knuckles along her cheek, and I move my fist back to grip her silky hair.
“You did,” I say. “You changed my mind. You and your friends and the way you all care about each other. But mostly you and your goodness. God, I’ve wanted to corrupt you all this time, but I think you made me better instead.”