Page 274 of Hateful Games

I can’t believe what my eyes see.

Danish and his partner are standing with four guys, who look like street thugs with shabby hair and unkempt clothes. I squint my eyes and catch them exchanging multiple envelopes. I watch my father-in-law accepting money from them, and I’m horrified when he starts counting it.

I’m well aware in some parts of the city the locals are forced to give protection money in order to save their small businesses.

Is that what I’m witnessing?

Does this mean Nova’s family is still into illegal extortions? Does Nova know? Was my father correct all along in saying they haven’t stopped their corrupted ways to get ahead?

Nova hasn’t hidden his father’s untoward past.

He does, however, speak in a way that insinuates it’s no longer their present.

Yet I’ve just witnessed the opposite.

Despite it all, my main concern isn’t my own safety but his. In case he’s in the dark about his father’s dealings. Because my Nova would never risk his company, which he’s so proud of, or his reputation. I choose to believe he has a moral code unlike his father.

Discreetly, I snap a picture of the group to confront Nova with later.

Letting him decide on how to handle the situation.

Before I’m caught, I hurry back to my car. Teresa is yet to be back. I’m still contemplating and torn over what I saw when I hear two sets of footsteps approaching.

My heart sinks, spine rigid, when my gaze collides with the visitor.

“Papa,” I gasp.

A curt and fake smile splits his lips, only I sensing the coldness of it. “Fancy seeing you here, Rosalie.”

Teresa, who is by his side, smiles at me. Oblivious to my panicked state.

Or how I’m fighting not to wither under my father’s menacing stare.

“Look who I found, sweetie,” she says. “Said he hasn’t spent time with you since the wedding.”

“I was—”

He ruthlessly cuts me off. “Nova has kept her busy. Your mother and I miss you, Rosalie.”

“I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch,” I apologetically say. “I’ll talk to Nova to come for dinner some evening.”

“We would like that.”

Gazing at Teresa, I remind her, “I should drop you off.”

“Actually, I’m going to stay,” she informs me with a wince. “Danish went somewhere and is yet to be back. Besides, your father needs you.”

“What?” I blurt out too fast.

“I have a flat tire. I’m sure you don’t mind giving your old man a lift.”

Smugness and meanness waft from him in waves. He’s smartly trapped me unless I want to make a scene. We both know I won’t. Stepping between Teresa and my rigid stance, he grips my elbow and burns me with a terrorizing glare.

“Shall we?”

I swallow and lower my head. “Yes.”

Once we’re seated in my car, which feels like a suffocating cage, my father ominously orders, “Drive home. It’s time you were reminded who your real family is and your place in it.”

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