Page 102 of What's Left of Us

There are only two keys to the library. One of them is in my hand and I highly doubt Mariam, the head librarian, let him borrow hers. She barely letmetouch it until she had no choice but to give me the spare when I took on opening hours. “I doubt I want to know how you got in,” I murmur, leaving the door half-open just in case.

My father may have never hit me before, but I know he’s capable after watching Mrs. Ricci step between us the day he raised his hand.

He doesn’t say anything right away, but he chuckles when he sees me walk away from the door and go behind the check-out counter. I know underneath the suit that makes him look both wealthy and professional is a powerful man not to be messed with. Lincoln and Conklin’s words from my husband’s birthday echo in my head.

No matter how well put-together my father looks or how approachable he appears, there’s far more hiding beneath the surface if what I heard is true.

“I have my ways,” he answers simply, his eyes roaming from the tips of my shoes to the messy bun I threw my hair into. “Youlooked better brunette,” he notes, the statement a punch to the gut I take with as much dignity as I can.

My eyes go to his graying hair that was once as rich a brown as mine. “That’s because I looked like a Del Rossi.”

He makes a thoughtful noise. “Much to your dismay, you will always be a Del Rossi. No matter what horrible color you dye your hair.”

The comment makes my teeth grind. “I’m surprised you haven’t stopped by sooner to congratulate me on my nuptials.”

I see the slightest flicker of a smile that’s gone when I blink, and I know it has nothing to do with amusement. I’ve seen it before whenever I snooped in on his meetings as a child. When he was challenged or second-guessed by the person he met with, that smile would appear. Usually, before that person went away. It was rare I ever saw them again. I’d heard rumors that they were fired, stripped of their roles, and moved away.

Disgraced.

Like me.

That smile, no matter how minuscule, is terrifying.

“Are they really nuptials if they’re fake?” he questions, gripping the arms of the chair.

“I assure you, the documents are all very legal.”

“I wasn’t referring to the documents.”

His eyes are bloodshot, not staying on me for too long. Is it because he doesn’t see my mother anymore?

“Then what were you referring to?”

“I preferred it when you barely spoke back,” is his only response.

I drape my coat over the back of the chair, giving him minimal attention. “I’m sure you do. It was easier for you when I didn’t ask questions. I want more out of life though.”

When I peek up at him, I see his jaw grind as he studies our surroundings. “Do you honestly think that the life you’ve chosenfor yourself is any better than the one I could have provided for you?”

I slide my purse under the counter. “I got tochoosethis life for myself. That will always make it better than being forced to live under whatever cruel arrangements you set up.”

The laugh he lets out is short and cold. “Have you seen yourself? You’re a mess, Georgia. You are married to a man who makes you work. You look like you haven’t slept. From where I sit, you chosewrong.”

He has to say that, doesn’t he? A man like him would never admit otherwise. “It’s so nice to hear you’re concerned about me and my well-being. How very…fatherly of you. I almost forgot you were mine since you’ve made it a point to throw the world’s largest temper tantrum because your adult daughter made a few choices for herself.”

For a long, tense, minute he doesn’t say a word. His sharp gaze is piercing, and I realize I’m poking a bear. A grizzly. Deadly. “You used to be a reasonable girl. That’s how you were raised.”

“I was raised to obey,” I correct, standing taller. “Whether I saw reason in it or not. There’s a big difference between the two.”

He hums, standing as well. His presence takes over the large space, making it much smaller. Flattening a hand down his suit jacket, he says, “Loyalty is everything to the Del Rossi name, which is not lost on you no matter where you decide to play house. I’ll admit, Georgia, that I thought you a lost cause when I learned that you whored yourself out to a cop and married him behind my back. But all is not lost after all. Not yet.”

“If you think I’m going to come back—”

“I think you need to stop talking and let me finish.” He cuts me off, voice leaving no room for argument.

As if my body recognizes the tone, it locks up, throat tightening and tongue heavy to trap the words wanting to escape it.

Once he realizes I’m not going to speak, he tucks a hand in his pocket. It’s a casual gesture, one far too simple for a man of his stature. A power play, I realize. To get me comfortable—maybe even to make it seem like he isn’t a threat when we both know he is. “Our family needs a united front. It always has. Your absence and your marriage have been very well-noted in our community. What’s also noticed is how haggard you look at such a young age. Your officer is hardly taking care of you. The beauty you were known for,praisedfor, is wasted on whatever act of rebellion you saw fit.”

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