<b>78</b>


    “What don’t you need? For somebody to look you in the eye and tell you you’re spiraling?” She even nods toward Roger. “And since when do you throw things at him? What is happening to you It’s like suddenly you’ve turned into <b>a </b>different person. <b>I </b>don’t understand why, but I do know you can’t alienate everybody just because you’re going through something.”


    “Tatiana<b>, </b>you don’t know what you’re talking about.”


    “Are you sure about that?” Roger pipes in.


    “And you can take your opinion and shove it up your ass<b>,</b>” I bark.


    “Listen to yourself!” Tatiana pleas, getting in my way before I can unge at him. I don’t know what <b>I </b>nned to do once <b>I </b>got my hands on him. I only know I need to shut his fucking mouth. “Dad, stop. Just stop and think for a second. If you weren’t drunk, you might actually hear yourself and know you’re making a big mistake.”


    “Don’t worry about it,” Roger growls, reaching into his pocket. “<b>I’ve </b>said everything I have to say, anyway.” Without breaking eye contact, he tosses what looks like a memory stick onto my desk. “There. There’s what you were in such a hurry to get. <b>You’re </b>wee, by the way.”


    With that, he turns away, leaving without a word. He doesn’t go to his office, either–I have half a mind to tell him to pack his things once he gets to his cottage. The arrogant prick. I should have set him straight a long time ago. I should punch him in the face. It would make me feel better, at least momentarily.


    “Wait,” I say to Tatiana when it looks like she’s going to follow in his footsteps.


    “Dad, trying to talk to you when you’re like this is useless. I’m not going to waste my time or yours<b>.</b>” The ache in her voice punches me right in the chest.


    Fuck me. I might as well be Charles now, with a daughter who pities him and doesn’t see the point in trying to get through to me. I don’t move for a long time, staring at the open doorway: The house deadly silent. The only sound I can hear is the pounding of my own heart.


    I’m alone.


    Without Caterina, without my daughter, without Roger.


    The thought of him makes my hackles rise. The smug little prick. He knows I need him, or else he’d never get away with half the shit he says. I should cut out his fucking tongue for being so disrespectful. Who is he to give parenting advice? He doesn’t have the first clue what it takes to raise a child. What it feels like to have part of you walking around in the world, walking face–first into shitty decisions. Knowing you can’t stop them, you can’t take on their pain to spare them–no matter how much you wish you could.


    3


    Add to that a stubborn, smart kid like mine. She’s always known her own mind and done exactly what she wanted. She’d cut off her nose to spite her face if it meant proving me wrong. Why would she listen to anything I say when I could barely convince her to get a check–up after learning what Christopher did to her?


    Somehow, Roger has the balls to stand before me and act like he gives a shit. Am I now supposed to believe he’s packing his shit and calling my bluff? Is that supposed to scare me?


    He’ll be back. They all will be. They have to be. Because what’s the point, otherwise? Standing here, alone, surrounded by spilled whiskey and shattered ss, a man could be forgiven for wondering if this is what his entire life hase to. It’s only me and drunken regret and the memory stick I was in a frenzy to get my hands on and now dread opening.


    It sits on the desk, taunting me silently, holding…what? My salvation? My death sentence? That’s what it would be if it led to Caterina leaving me for good. No less than a death sentence.


    while I circle the desk. There’s no going back from this. Whatever I find here, It makes me eye the USB, the dread building in me, I can’t pretend it doesn’t exist. What could it be? What information could it hold? They <b>say </b>the anticipation of death is worse than death itself—I wholeheartedly believe that now.


    What if I pretend this never happened? That he never found the report? Pathetic. What am <b>I</b><b>, </b><b>a </b>child? Still, there’s no shaking the question. What if, what if.


    78


    Fuck it. I might as well get it over with.


    Tinsert the drive into the port on myputer<b>, </b><b>my </b>stomach knotting. Now I’m regretting all the booze since it’s now sloshing


    around in my g?t.


    On it are the reports taken by detectives who handled the <b>case</b>. Descriptions of the scene–the skid marks on the road, ck paint on the car’s white rear bumper that suggested another car forced her into the woods, where she collided with a tree. Partial footprints near the scene, but the ground was already wet and muddy, thanks to rain falling at the time of the crash.


    Nobody thought to investigate the paint on the bumper or the footprints? And now I see where Charles’s ragees from. Why he feels so betrayed. It was his wife, his own fucking wife, in that car. And, ording to the statement he gave the investigator, who he probably considered a friend, there was no ck paint on the bumper when she took the car that day.


    If anyone would have known, it would be Charles, because it was his car she was driving.


    I lean in<b>, </b>squinting, erging the print. ording to the victim’s husband, the victim drove his car that morning, dropping him off at work while her car was in the shop for an oil change.


    “She was driving his car,” I whisper, reading it again. If I wasn’t sure before, I’m sure now. The truth can’t be unseen<b>, </b>even with all the whiskey in my system.


    Whoever did this thought they would find Charles behind the wheel. They had already done their homework and knew which car to look for, unaware he wasn’t the driver. It was a stormy day, probably cloudy and dark, so the falling rain might have made it difficult to identify who was behind the wheel.


    “Son of a bitch.” Sinking into my chair, I close my eyes while the world spins out of control around me.


    They were after him, because of me. Our involvement. It’s a textbook n. Whoever did this knew he was trying to pin something on me. They wanted him quiet, for good, before he came too close to uncovering anything. Or worse, pinning something on them. I have no solid proof, although it doesn’t matter. I know this game. I’ve seen it enough times.


    The problem is, now that I have this information, I’m stuck. What the fuck do I do? Do I tell the truth or pretend I know nothing? Selfishly I realize that it might save my ass, but not in the long run. No matter what, Caterina will be heartbroken and worried for her father, which would mean misery for us. That’s not even mentioning the promise I made to her.


    On the other hand, we could just as undoubtedly be miserable if I tell her everything and she decides she can’t look at me another second. Even if she chooses not to end it, why would she want to be with a man who is the living, breathing reminder of the ending to all the good in her life? Her mother may as well be a cautionary tale of what happens when you identally brush against a dark web of greed and lies.


    Look what happens when youe too close to evil. You don’t have to know that evil exists in order for it to close in on you and whisk you away from everyone and everything you love.


    It makes sense now–all of it. I understand Charles more than I’d like to admit right now. I lean back in my chair and stare up at the ceiling. I’ve drank so much today that I shouldn’t even be able to make sense of anything, except nothing can sober you up like the truth.


    Before, I was looking through muddy water. However, now I can see clear as day, and it’s astounding. If they could do this to her mother, who’s to say they couldn’t do it to Caterina? It’s a terrifying reminder of how dangerous my life is, and how utterly stupid it was to tangle her up in it.


    Fuck, no matter what, I need to find out who did this and put them down like the rabid animal they are. It’s the only way to bnce the scales and protect what’s mine, and even if Caterina chooses to walk away, I’ll know at least I did everything possible to protect her. All I can do is hope and pray that I can keep everything together before my entire empire crumbles to the ground.


    <b>T20 </b><b>BUNUS </b>


    “You told your daughter you would do everything in your power to help her. Aside from keeping that rapist bastard in a warehouse so you can torment him, what else have you done? Have you taken her to a doctor? Have you spoken to her about what she’s been through?”


    “You saw how it was thest time I tried that. What should I do? T her down to a chair and question her until she <b>begs </b>me <b>to </b>stop?”


    “I’ve seen you do worse for less.”


    That’s it. That’s where he knows he went too far. He clears his throat but keeps his head high. He’s a proud asshole, and I want to knock him down a couple of pegs.


    “What the fuck does that mean?” I whisper.


    His jaw works, “I think you know what it means. <b>If </b>you truly wanted to help her, I mean really truly, you would find a way to get through to her. You’d spend time with her. Except you haven’t even tried. Because you’re too busy obsessing over Caterina.”


    “Don’t you dare-”


    “I’m not trying to criticize the thing you two have. Only<b>, </b>it’s like nothing else matters.<b>” </b>


    “Because nothing else does, goddamnit.”


    “Not even your daughter? You know,” he mutters, eyes narrowing. “She already has one parent who tossed her aside. Do you want to make it two for two? You’re on your way.”


    “Get the fuck out of here. Get out of my house, get out of mypound. Go!”


    “I’m not going anywhere, because you don’t mean it.”


    “Now you’re going to tell me what the fuck I mean?” Blinded by rage, I break yet another of my sses by throwing it at him. He ducks easily and doesn’t even flinch when it shatters behind him.


    “What the hell is going on in here?”


    We both turn in time to watch Tatiana dash into the room, flushed and breathless, in her pajamas and slippers. “Why are you screaming at each other? I could hear you from the kitchen<b>!</b><b>” </b>


    “Go back to the kitchen,” I mutter, ring at the traitor in front of me. “Go, now.”


    “No. You’re not going to send me off somece else. I’m not a teenager anymore.”


    Fuck I can’t deal with this right now. My head is spinning as it is, and I might have to kill Roger before the night is over. Of course, she chooses this precise moment to defy me. “For once, would you listen when I ask you to do something?”


    Roger shakes his head. “This isn’t


    her fault. it out on her.”


    I’grit my teeth and clench my fist. I can feel the blood rushing to my head. “Don’t tell me how to treat my daughter. She is mine, not yours.”


    “I’m not anybody’s!” Tatiana shouts, crunching broken ss beneath her slippers as she charges across the room and puts herself between us. I’m the one she’s ring up at, though, and I hate it. <b>“</b>When are you going to get that through your head? People don’t belong to other people. I am your daughter. I am not yours to order around or push aside when you don’t want me to see or hear something. I’m not a little girl anymore.”


    “I realize that,” I growl.


    <b>Do </b>you? I’ve barely seen you or spoken to you in days. You’re in here all the time, most of the time with the door closed. You’re not eating, and here you are, reeking of whiskey. This isn’t like you. This isn’t my father.”


    My head is going to burst if this goes on much longer. “I don’t need this <b>right </b>now. I don’t need any of this!”