Page 91 of The Devil's Pawn

No.

Anguish for what Dante endured hurts more than my own pain. Losing that many people…

How could my family have been involved in that?

“Your mother wasn’t my idea,” my father adds. “I tried to tell him not to, but Faro—”

A menacing laugh is Dante’s only response as he takes a step back, flipping the knife in the air before he catches it.

“Wow. What a hero. How about a round of applause. Hmm?” He starts to clap, and all the men around them join in.

Then, suddenly, he’s on my father again. The blade tips up into his throat, making droplets of blood pool around the pointy edge. My heart thrashes in my rib cage.

“And my eight-year-old brother? My—”

I gasp. Dante glances back at me, but my eyes only know my dad.

Eight? Who is this man I call a father?

My pulse pumps wildly as tears leak from the edges of my eyes. I step forward, one foot after the other, until I’m right in front of him now. My hand whips out, striking his cheek as my lips curl with disgust.

“You killed a child?” My voice jitters with raw pain.

He swallows. “Not me…Raquel… Your uncle. He—”

“Stop!” I bellow, my palm in the air. “Were you there?! Did you watch it happen?!”

His silence tells me all I need to know.

“Did you try to stop it? Did you do anything at all?!” I scream.

He tightens his mouth and avoids my eyes, glancing down instead.

“Show me you’re worth something! Show me you have some humanity!”

But he continues to avoid my accusations.

“I don’t know you.” I shake my head. “This isn’t my father.”

I fail to keep the ache out of my voice. It’s broken, just like my family.

“Hurting children. Women. Your own daughter. You disgust me.”

He’s far worse than I had suspected. His crimes are unforgivable.

A protective arm curls around my front as Dante draws me close so I don’t have to see my father anymore.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers with a tremor. “I’m so sorry you’re hurting.”

I meet his gaze. “You’re not the one who should be apologizing. Not to me.”

My palms cup his cheeks, the adoration spilling from every pore. I hate that our beginning is plagued by malice. But from ruins, beauty rises, stronger and harder to tarnish. No one will break us. Not anymore.

I lift up my feet just as he lowers, and our lips meet in a brief, soft kiss.

“I have to end this, baby,” he gently says. “I need you to see a doctor.”

“Okay.” I return to where I originally stood, letting him finish what they began.

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