Page 125 of What's Left of Us

Nostrils flaring at his nonchalant tone, I grab the water glass somebody set in front of me and grip it tightly. “It’s slowly becoming a home,” I inform him. “Isn’t that right, Peaches?”

The nickname grabs ahold of Leani’s attention, and her eyes, which had been downtrodden the entire time, lift to Georgia. She remains silent, an order laid out by Nikolas, I’m sure.

I notice something off about her.

Her eyes are glassy.

Her face thick with the kind of makeup Georgia used to wear. A mask to hide behind. And when she turns her head, I notice the faintest red marks around her neck.

Something tells me her makeup is covering a lot more than her misery. As much as I hate to admit it, Luca may be right.

Georgia clears her throat. “Right.”

It’s Antonio who speaks up next. “And how is the job you love so much, Georgia? I must admit, I never quite saw you as the working type when Luca said you seemed happy at the bookstore.”

Georgia stiffens at the condescending tone thrown at her, her eyes staying on the empty placemat in front of her.

I speak for her when it’s clear she won’t speak up for herself. “Maybe if she was given the opportunity to make something of herself of her own free will, you would have seen it sooner. It’s a good thing she has me.”

A small breath escapes one of the women to my left—I’m not sure if it’s Leani or Georgia.

“Yes,” Leani forces to say. “A very good thing.”

Antonio shoots Nikolas a look.

Nikolas leans forward, and despite the long table putting distance between us, his cold glare closes in on me all the same. “Keep telling yourself that, Officer. Perhaps one day, you’ll believe it.”

Luca chuckles, picking up the glass of scotch that he’s been nursing.

The only thing I say is, “It’s detective now.”

The table grows silent.

Leani stands, nervously saying, “I’ll go check to see if dinner is ready to be served.”

Her eyes go to Georgia, then to me, never scanning over the three men looming at the other side of the table as if she’s too afraid to.

“Georgia,” she says softly. “Why don’t you come with me?”

I highly doubt it takes two people to check on dinner, but I don’t say anything.

Georgia glances at me, then at her father and the two other men across the table. “All right.”

I skirt my hand over her leg as she stands, flashing her a smile that she tightly returns. It’s as if the second she stepped into this house, all the progress she made went out the door and she reverted to the silent child she was raised to be.

As soon as the women are out of the room, I turn to the three men and lean my arms against the edge of the table. “Let’s not bullshit one another. What was the real reason for this dinner?”

Antonio scoffs, and Luca’s lips waver but remain neutral.

Nikolas answers. “Perhaps my daughter realized this is where she was meant to be.”

Snorting, I look at Luca. “We both know that’s not true, is it, Carbone?”

Luca’s eyebrow pops up. “Nobody forced Georgia here tonight.”

Instead of reacting, I lean back in my chair. “I would hardly say that’s true. How many years of emotional manipulation did it take to wear her down enough to agree? I’ll never understand why she chooses to care for somebody who’s done nothing but tear her down. But she does.” My eyes go to Nikolas. “We allhave motives that brought us here tonight. I want my wife to be happy. You want her to be controlled. One day, she’ll see all of you for who you are.”

“And what about you?” Nikolas asks. “What do you think will happen when she opens her eyes and sees you for who you are?”

---