Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 89232 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89232 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
“Our inheritance.” My heart thuds between my ribs. The reality weighs down on me, making everything feel too heavy. “What about that money? Mine is tied up until I turn twenty-five, but you have access to yours.”
Mom sniffs. “I used all the money your father left me to pay off our debts.”
Ryan carries two glasses over and hands one to Mom and the other to Celeste. “The business he left me is nothing but a small satellite office in Cape Town. It’s the only part Angelo didn’t take. It hardly makes enough money to be worth the effort.”
“Hold on.” I’m still stuck on what Mom said. “Debts?” I sit down on the chair facing her. “I thought we didn’t live on credit.”
She waves a hand. “Credit cards, wedding expenses, the funeral… It all adds up quickly.”
Meaning there’s nothing left.
“Don’t forget that woman and her daughter got most of the money,” Mom adds through thin lips.
Laura and Daisy.
It’s expensive to keep one family, especially with the material standards my parents upheld, but two cost double that much.
Ryan pours another glass and lifts it with a raise of his eyebrow in a silent question directed at me.
I shake my head. On second thought, I reach for the drink. When he places the tumbler in my hand, I swallow everything in one go. The alcohol heats my stomach, dispelling some of the ice in my veins.
My eyes water from the burn of the strong liquor. “Then he pays for everything?” I can’t say his name out loud. Not now. Not after what I just learned.
Ryan’s silence is his answer. He pours a few fingers of Scotch for himself and, following my example, downs it in one shot.
That’s horrible. Angelo is paying not only my expenses but also my family’s. He’s paying for our food, our clothes, and every luxury we care to indulge in.
Why would he do that? Does he take perverse satisfaction from making us dependent on him? Because Mom is wrong. Angelo doesn’t have a charitable bone in his body. He doesn’t do anything without a reason, let alone out of the goodness of his heart. Wait. He doesn’t have a heart.
Hurt and confused, I ask, “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Dad never wanted to.” Ryan shrugs. “You were so young at the time. He was trying to protect you.”
To stop me from blaming myself more than I already was because I was the one who let Angelo into the house. Fresh guilt needles its way into my gut.
“Why?” I glance between Mom and Ryan. “Why would he pay our bills?”
Silence falls over the room.
I open my fist, showing them the big shiny diamond set in gold. “What is the meaning of this?”
Mom gasps.
“Why would he give me a ring if he hates us for what happened to his family? What the hell is going on?”
“You have to tell her, Ryan,” Celeste says. “She has a right to know.”
“Tell me what?”
More silence.
“Ryan?” Panic and helpless anger heat my voice. “Tell me what?”
Sighing, he scrubs a hand over his face and leaves his empty glass on the desk. “When Dad employed the Russo family, he made a deal. He promised to marry you to Angelo in exchange for their alliance and services.”
The ground disappears underneath me.
“The Russos weren’t only interested in the money he paid them.” Ryan’s expression is pained. “They wanted in on the business. Angelo would’ve received shares and a position in the company.”
Slowly, the pieces click together. “That’s why they came to my sixteenth birthday party.”
Ryan continues, “The deal was discussed so long before then, Dad thought they’d forgotten about it.”
“But they hadn’t,” I say, my voice sounding strange to my own ears.
“No,” Ryan says with regret. “Dad denied making the deal. Things got heated. Santino and Angelo left your party angry.”
I stare at Mom for confirmation. “That’s why Dad didn’t want me to have contact with him.” I brace myself for uttering that name. “With Angelo.”
“I didn’t agree with not telling you,” she says, pursing her lips in the way she does when she’s trying not to cry. “Then you told me how guilty you felt, and I knew your father was right. Admitting the truth would’ve only made you feel worse. Your father believed it was better not to saddle you with the gritty details. I think he was worried you’d be disappointed in him if you knew what he’d done.”
“Promising me to a Russo?” I ask on the verge of hysteria again.
Recollections of the times I caught my parents fighting flash through my mind. The memory of my sixteenth birthday party when my mom stormed out of the study with mascara running down her eyes comes back to taunt me. Mom was upset about something Dad had done. I still remember her words that drifted through the closed door.