Page 71 of Unspoken Obsession

I am too afraid to ask anything. Dante's body language and the darkness in his eyes—he has turned into that dark and dangerous man I have only seen glimpses of. I feel sick with nerves.

I hurry to keep up and wince away from the curious stares of the men around me.

We walk down another passage, and Dante pushes open a thick, heavy door. I catch sight of the number three etched into the stone above it.

Immediately the smell hits me. My body convulses as I try not to vomit. It smells like death and human waste. It's fucking freezing.

Dante flicks a light on and a scream rips from my throat.

He grabs me and clamps his hand over my mouth.

I stare in horror at the man dangling from a chain on the ceiling. He looks dead. He smells dead. His body is covered inbruises and his skin is sagging like it wants to melt off his bone. He looks like meat hanging in the back of a butcher shop.

I fight the gag reflex again and my eyes water, tears flooding over Dante's hand.

"I am going to take my hand away. You will not scream. Do you understand me?" His voice is deadly cold.

I nod; he lifts his hands, stepping to my side. His eyes are on me, but I can't tear my eyes off the man hanging lifeless in front of me.

"Is—is he dead?" I stammer.

Dante ignores my question. "Do you recognize him, Frankie? Do you know him?"

"Know him?" I say in shock. "How would I know him?"

He grabs my jaw and turns my tear-stained face towards his. "Just answer the question." He snarls.

"No. I've never seen him before in my life." I scream, filled with an intense need to get out of here. The shock has worn off and I am acutely aware of the fact that this man has been tortured to death.

I shove Dante hard, and he lets me go so I turn and run for the door.

I can barely breathe, and my legs are shaking. I fall out of the room and up against the cold stone wall in the passage outside.

I can stop sobbing.

I can't stop shaking.

I hear the door closing and Dante's arms wrap around me. He lifts me up against his chest.

"I'm so sorry, little fox. I had to be sure. I had to know if you were involved."

I shake my head in disbelief. "You think I had something to do with that?—"

"Not anymore. It was your father, little fox. He is responsible for everything."

The bright morning sunlight splashes through my apartment window onto the dining room table where I am sitting, staring at a bowl of oats. Damion is playing on the floor. He finished his cereal a while ago and has been content to keep himself busy with his new dinosaur toy.

I can't stop thinking about what Dante told me about my father last night. And I am still in shock about what I saw.

I don't think I've processed any of it.

The man's face—swollen and grotesque—is all I see when I close my eyes.

My father was behind it all.

And human trafficking? Can it really be true?

I hardly slept at all because I was tossing and turning, wondering how I went my entire life so oblivious to the type of person my father really is. Was I so spoiled and controlled that it made me blind?

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