Page 50 of Redeem

I lowered my lids, nodded.

“I was not a very good person,” he said.

I snorted but stayed quiet.

“I had no idea how to be. Still don’t,” he said.

The vulnerability I heard in his voice made me look up.

I recognized that sound, knew it so well from myself. Cursed myself for again feeling that bond with him, but was again reminded, even despite these horrible circumstances, of the ties that pulled us together. No one had ever understood me, and listening to that sentence from him confirmed that it had been the same for him, made me want to go to him.

Instead, though, I asked a question. “Did you have a family?”

I shouldn’t have asked, but the curiosity was too much. It would explain a lot, especially how he seemed to understand me, know me so well.

To my surprise, he nodded. “Yes, I had a family. A mother and two sisters. A father,” he said.

The dip in his voice when he said the word “father” told me there was a story there.

“And he wasn’t a good person,” I said, voicing the most obvious conclusion.

He shrugged. “In his way.”

“That means nothing,” I replied.

He shook his head, his eyes taking on a flinty hardness. “No. It means everything. His way made me what I am,” he said.

“And that’s a good thing?” I said, my skepticism clear.

He looked at me again, but didn’t answer. I couldn’t help but wonder what the answer might be, but was too proud to ask.

“We had a history, a background,” he said.

“Of murder?” I asked, incredulous.

“Sometimes,” he said.

That single word took my breath away. I knew he was serious, but now I understood how serious he’d been, how deep this went.

“My husband. He borrowed the money from you?” I asked, my voice barely audible.

“No. I was simply responsible for collecting the debt,” he said.

I sank back against the chair, welcoming the hard bite of wood against my back. That physical sensation helped ground me, kept me from getting lost in the fantastic circumstances that were playing out. I was wavering between numb and electric, knew that this roller coaster of emotions was only beginning.

“Tell me, Ciprian,” I said.

“Ours was a strong family. Respected,” he said.

“Was?”

He nodded. “My father was responsible for our legacy, and he squandered it,” he said.

“Legacy?” I frowned, trying to understand what he was saying. “You talk like you were royalty or something,” I said.

“Sort of, I guess. My clan had lasted for generations.”

“Your clan?” I asked.

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