Page 33 of Stolen Sin

Dad liked the guys. He called them Will and Jonathan, but said he mostly dealt with Will. They’d talk on the phone for hours sometimes, chatting about nothing, not even talking about the lottery payments. They were his friends, or anyway, that’s what he thought, and it was easy for a lonely old man to start to believe Will and Jonathan were on his side. Will would sometimes call just to check up on him, always promising that the money was nearly done, that there was just one more hurdle, one last bribe, one final fee to check off, and the whole lump sum would be transferred into Dad’s account.

“It was gradual,” I say, finishing my glass of wine and feeling drained. “One day, he’d paid a few hundred bucks, and the next he’d taken out a second mortgage and given Will every dime he had saved in retirement. When Will called and demanded more, and Dad broke down in tears and told him that he didn’t have any more, that’s when Dad finally admitted to himself that he’d gotten scammed, that Will and Jonathan weren’t his friends, that they’d used him and tossed him aside once they’d gotten what they wanted.”

Simon remains silent through my story, and when I finish, he leans back in his chair looking troubled. I get up and walk to the kitchen to refill my glass, my hands shaking. I don’t want him to see how much this hurts me, how violated I feel on behalf of my father, and I’m not even the one that got scammed.

It’s horrible. Those monsters. I don’t know how anyone would take advantage of an old man like that, much less fool him into thinking he had friends on the other side of the phone. I think that’s what gets my dad the most. He thought of Will as his friend, his real friend, someone he cared about. They shared pieces of their lives, or at least my Dad did. Who knows how many lies Will told him.

“I’m sorry that happened,” Simon says when I sit back down. “If it feels any better, that’s a more common story than you might think.”

“Dad found a Facebook group of fellow scam survivors, but he said it’s too damn depressing.” I swirl my drink, wishing I hadn’t talked about this. The night felt good, ripe with potential. Now I’m lingering on the worst time of my life.

“No lottery.” Simon gets up and clears the plates. “I’ll come up with a more creative solution then.” When he returns, I get up and excuse myself, pretending like I’m tired and want to head to bed, but he catches my wrist before I can walk away. “There’s no shame in what happened to him,” he says softly.

“I know. I keep telling him that.” I can’t meet his gaze. “But I hate what it did to him. The money’s one thing, but they took something worse. They took his trust. They took every scrap of self-esteem he had left and stomped it to dust.”

His grip tightens on my wrist. He holds me, and I want to pull away, but that look’s back in his eyes. I lick my lips, heart pattering wildly into my throat, as he leans forward and brushes his fingers across my cheek, pushing my hair from my face.

“You’re loyal,” he whispers, his mouth moving up my chin. “You should be proud of what you’ve done for your father.”

“I’m just doing what’s right. I wish I could do more.” I shiver as his lips find the shell of my ear.

“You are doing more, topolina. You’re giving everything.”

I close my eyes. He’s right, I am giving everything. I’m giving myself to a man like Simon to save my father from other men like Simon. It’s a beautiful little circle of crime and I’m right in the center.

“I should go.” I move to pull away, but he pins me closer against him. He’s big and warm, and I suck in a surprised breath.

“I just want to say that you should be proud of yourself. There aren’t many people who would step up and take care of their family the way you did. You killed yourself to help him. You’re still doing it too. And I want you to know, everything I promised you, I’ll follow through. Your father will be very comfortable for the rest of his life no matter what happens with us.”

I blink back sudden tears. I shouldn’t be this emotional—it’s probably just the wine. “You already promised that, remember?”

“But I need you to hear it anyway.” He kisses my cheek. A fire lights in my core, a sizzling, burning want. “I’ll take care of you both, baby.”

Then he releases me. I take a step back, hands pressed against my chest. He’s looking at me like he’s a step from ripping off my clothes, clearing the table with a dramatic swipe of one arm, and fucking me raw right here in the dining room.

And if he does it, I’ll let him.

The moment hangs, the tension killing me, until he turns away and leaves me there, breathing hard, biting my lip to keep from screaming.

Chapter 19

Simon

The night wind’s cold against my neck. I’m hunkered down in my car in the parking lot of a fast food place. It’s past three in the morning and the place has been closed for a couple of hours now. The streets are empty and the lights in this part of town are mostly out. Driving through West Roseland, I saw more boarded-up homes, more smashed street signs, and more cars up on blocks than in most other neighborhoods in the city. And this place isn’t supposed to be all that bad.

None of that matters. I’m focused on a building across the street. It’s a brick structure, newly constructed in the last decade, with all the windows covered by heavy curtains and heavy bars over the front door. It looks dead, except there are lights on inside, and the parking lot behind it has seven cars in total, plus a few more on the street. It’s the only building in the whole area that’s clean and hasn’t been touched by graffiti.

I close my eyes and my blood pounds into my ears. I keep thinking about Emily’s story, about her father getting scammed, about all the shit he went through and all the shit she’s currently going through to make things right for him. That level of love, that level of loyalty, that’s fucking admirable.

And a part of me wants to punish the people responsible. I can’t know who it was for sure since the local scam trade’s been growing these past few years, but I can at least send a message.

Scamming old people won’t be tolerated. Not in my fucking city.

“You awake?” Davide’s voice comes over the radio I have tossed on the passenger seat. I peer out the window and spot him parked across the way in the street.

“I’m good,” I tell him. “How are the guys? Everyone ready?”

“They’re getting impatient.” There’s static from the walkie. “I think it’s time.”

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