Page 8 of The Devil's Deal

I’m hoping I can sneak out undetected while he’s still watching TV and return less than an hour later. Will he even notice if I leave? He didn’t say anything when I tiptoed down the stairs. It’s like I’m invisible sometimes, until he needs something.

I tread slowly toward the door, right past the back of the couch he’s sitting on. I’ll just text Mom after I leave.

My palm lands on the door handle.

Almost there.

“Where you goin’?” my father clips out, the sharp edge of his tone coming through across the room.

My hand trembles as I twist my neck toward his voice, the side of his head greeting me, his eyes still glued to the football game.

My skin comes alive with fear, prickling with dread. “I’m just going to the library.”

I attempt with all my might to keep my voice even. If he smells fear, he’ll know I’m lying. Well, sort of. I am going there, but for reasons he won’t approve of.

“I have to work on a science project with kids from class.”

He’s quiet for a second, and I bathe in relief, hoping his silence means he’ll let me go. Sometimes I’m lucky and catch him in a good mood. And though it doesn’t happen a lot, those are the very best days because those days Dom and I get to spend hours together at the library. They have a snack area where we can hang out as long as we want. It’s the only place I can hide out and be a kid without anyone my father knows watching. His driver always stays parked in the front. Never once has he come inside.

“No.”

One word, and my hope dashes away.

“That’s not fair!” I scream. “You always do this! I’m never allowed to go anywhere. I’m in school. I have things I have to do! Don’t you get it?”

The TV goes silent, and I know instantly I’ve overstepped. But I’m so sick of him controlling me and not letting me have a life.

Who wants to be friends with a girl who’s never allowed to do anything? A few kids have tried to hang out with me, but it was always a no from my father. I may just be thirteen, but I’m old enough to do stuff instead of sitting at home in my room. It’s not like I can do anything after school, either. He has his driver pick me up and drop me at home.

He gets off the couch, his round belly bobbing as he approaches me, the short-sleeved white t-shirt wet with a beer stain on his chest from the bottle still clutched in his fist.

Once he’s in front of me, he stares blankly into my eyes. Then suddenly, his other hand flies out and lands hard against my cheek.

“Who the fuck do you think you are, talking to your father like that?” his voice bellows, scratching up the walls, filled with memories I’d love to rip away and bury somewhere they can’t touch me.

Tears sting my eyes as I hold a palm over my cheek, a whimper bubbling out of me.

“Faro!” Mom’s voice comes through, her long, black hair coiled on the top of her head. We look so much alike, even with me being a lot younger. “Don’t you put your hands on her!”

He marches over to her, his face twisting with disgust. “What the fuck you gonna do, you fucking puttana schifosa?”Filthy whore.

He spits in her face.

I pant, my eyes widened, my heart hammering so loudly it hurts to breathe.

Don’t hurt her!

But I can’t seem to speak. Terror is all I know.

She shuts her eyes, wiping it away, not shocked at all. This is a common occurrence, but every time it happens, I’m scared like it’s the first time.

His hands jump out, grabbing her around the neck, his face pressing into hers before he lifts her off the floor.

I rush toward him, hitting his back with my fists.

“Let her go!” I shout as I land another punch. “Let her go!”

Mom’s face turns red as she tries to breathe, her hands jumping out to claw his shoulders with her long French-manicured nails.

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