Page 54 of The Devil's Deal

I’m his real-life prisoner now. Like I’ve always been, but worse this time.

I’ve always tried to be strong. To show him that what he’s done to me—what he keeps doing—doesn’t affect me. But with each passing night that I’m locked in here, my resolve, that tough exterior I’ve spent years building, begins to crack, like an egg hit in just the right way.

But every time he walks into the room once a day to give me food, I don’t show it.

I don’t cry.

I don’t beg.

I lie on the bed, staring at the ceiling, pretending not to give a shit.

But I want out.

I hate being caged like an animal. If it weren’t for the window, I’d lose all sense of time.

I count the days.

One.

Five.

Ten.

Fourteen.

That’s the day he finally talks to me. My hope is that I’ve served my punishment, but with my father, I doubt it.

“We need to talk about my expectations of you. You’re my daughter, and you’re going to act like it. You have two options, and that’s the only choice you’ll ever be given, so choose smart.”

I cross my arms, staring daggers into his round face. Those dark brown eyes of his would never appear malicious to anyone who didn’t know him, but beneath that warmth lies the heart of a killer. A brutal one.

I’ve heard the stories. I knew what he was. And I know what he still is.

“You can either marry Michael or you get your business degree,” he continues. “Then I want you running my club. The feds are sniffing, and Pauly isn’t cut out to run his ass let alone that place. He’s as good as I’ve got right now, but you’ve got the brain. I want you to do it.”

That’s the only compliment my father has ever given me.

I have the brain. Well, I guess it’s better than the alternative.

I know there’s no negotiating with him. It’s either I pick one of these so-called choices or he does it for me. So I choose the one I can live with.

I choose the club.

* * *

When I’m finally done re-living the trauma, I peer up at Brian, finding his knuckles white at his sides, his features contorted with fury. His brows dip with his own emotion, too great for a man whose harshness overpowers him.

I look down at the floor, not wanting to see the softening of his eyes, or the pity.

“I hate him. I always have,” I go on, glancing up at Brian.

His jaw flexes, his eyes growing teeth strong enough to tear my father apart.

“I’d help you take him down for nothing, but being stuck inside this room only reminds me of the pain of being locked away before.” I evade his eyes again. “I can’t handle it.”

Tears sprinkle within my eyes. I can sense their heaviness encroaching.

“I know I appear like I have my shit together…” I gaze up at him, letting the tears fall. “But I don’t. I have cracks like everyone else does. I just try very hard to disguise them.”

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