Total pages in book: 35
Estimated words: 32295 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 161(@200wpm)___ 129(@250wpm)___ 108(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 32295 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 161(@200wpm)___ 129(@250wpm)___ 108(@300wpm)
"About your future." The unspoken subtext hangs heavy between us. He doesn't want to talk about my future. He wants to talk about how he can regain control of it. With him, it's always about control.
"Thanks, but no thanks," I retort, desperate to protect the fragile peace I've carved out for myself away from the poison of his ambition. For the first time I can remember, I'm happy. It's not an act. I don't have to pretend. Even with everything going on, I'm genuinely happy. He doesn't get to wriggle back in and snatch even a fraction of that away.
"You know I only want what's best for you," he says, his tone so earnest I almost believe him. Almost. But I've lived under his thumb. His insults still ring in my ears.
To him, I'm a whore. A slut. In his eyes, I'm no better than the woman he's spent half of my life hating simply because she left him.
"You can take your 'best' and go to hell," I snap, feeling the cracks in my resolve. I need to get away, to breathe, to be anywhere but here.
I spin on my heel, the wind sending my hair whipping around my face. Leaves crunch underfoot as I stride away, no longer caring about class. I just want to leave.
"Karina," he growls. "We're not done."
I spin to face him, anger boiling over. He doesn't even call to check on me, but suddenly I'm supposed to drop everything because he wants to talk? "You made your feelings about me abundantly clear three weeks ago when you called me a whore, and then again when you didn't even bother to make sure I survived the accident. If you have something else to say, too bad. I'm done listening."
For a moment, I think I see a flash of regret in his eyes. Or maybe that's just what I want to see. Maybe, even now, I want him to love me the way a father should. But whatever it was vanishes as quickly as it appeared, killing that hope. He never loved me. He never will.
His jaw tics. "Coda Passero," he says.
My heart clenches with a mix of fear and defiance. He knows who Coda is. How?
"Leave him out of this," I warn, my voice steady despite the tremors threatening to unravel me. "Your issues are with me, not him."
"He doesn't need your protection, Karina. He's with Rafe Valentino's family, one of his main men. He's mafia."
He means to shock me with the truth, to shake the trust I have in Coda, but he fails. Did I know? Not in so many words. But I'm not surprised, either. I know who and what Coda is. Maybe I didn't have a title to attach to him until just now, but he's never lied to me about the kind of man he is.
"Your point?" I snap, not wavering.
His expression hardens. It's clear he expected his revelation to sway me, to break the bond that ties me to Coda. He's not happy that it didn't work.
"Do you really think a man like that would fall for a girl like you if your father weren't the Superintendent of Police?" My father eyes me, a strange mix of brutal honesty and pity in his gaze. "You're smarter than that, kid. He's using you to get to me."
"Not everything is about you."
"You don't know what you're dealing with."
"Maybe not, but I'd rather deal with him than you," I retort, telling him the truth. "At least he's honest about who and what he is. You wear your badge like a shield, pretending it makes you one of the good ones. You aren't. I'm not sure you ever were."
He flinches, the first real reaction he's given me since he appeared.
I brush hair away from my face, scrutinizing his expression, wondering how he got here. And realizing I don't really care to find out. He made his bed. He can lie in it.
"You should go," I say, turning away. And then, because I can't resist, I add, "Before Coda finds you here."
"Ask him about his parents," he calls softly as I walk away. "If you don't believe that he's using you like a pawn, ask him how our families are connected."
My steps falter before I force myself to keep walking. What does my father know about Coda's parents? Why does he want me to ask about them?
Anxiety churns through me, and even though I try like hell not to let him shake my faith in Coda, the first seeds of doubt creep in anyway.
The confrontation with my father leaves a bitter taste in my mouth and a heaviness in my chest. It presses down on me, making it hard to breathe.
I don't even remember the drive back to Coda's. All I see is the look on my father's face. All I hear are his words ringing in my ears.