Page 167 of What's Left of Us

I stand, flattening a hand down my dress. I wore my prettiest one—purple, not too tight or too short or too revealing. But enough to show that I want to be taken seriously without being considered a threat.

I gesture toward the door, following him out to make sure he doesn’t linger any longer than he needs to in case my father gets back earlier than expected.

It’s only when I open the front door that he turns to me and says, “I felt bad for what my part was in this when he asked me to help him. You were so young. So innocent.”

I hold the door tighter. “But you still went through with it.”

“I was young too and needed the money.”

An excuse. One he’s clearly already justified to make himself feel better about himself. “And what about now? Do you feel bad for me for the hell I’ve been put through thanks to your hand in it? All the control I’ve lost? The lying I’ve endured?”

To my surprise, he meets my eyes. “Perhaps part of me still does,” he admits, dotting his sweaty head with his handkerchief before tucking it back into his pocket. “But I can see that you are far more like your father than I’m sure he even knows, which means you’ll be just fine.”

It’s clearly not a compliment based on the sneer he gives me, but I still smile at him regardless.

At the end of the day, when the paperwork is filed, he won’t be my problem anymore. He can judge me all he wants, but just like him, I’m doing what I need to in order to survive.

“Thank you for coming,” I say.

He grumbles under his breath while getting into his car and slamming the door.

When he’s out of sight, I close my eyes and let the facade fade. My palms are clammy, and my heart is racing a million miles an hour. I was glad he didn’t pick up on that, or he wouldn’t have said as much as he did.

Leani’s hand brushes my arm. “It’s not true. You aren’t like him.”

“I know.” I turn to her. “I asked Luca to help me set up a meeting with Stefan Mangino. I think it’s time we weighed our options, Leani. If you want this to end, we might need more than the police’s help to do that. And now we have a bargaining chip.”

She swallows. “You think he would help?”

I take a deep breath. “I think that his hate for my father will be exactly what we need to walk away from this.”

For the first time since she came to me, I see something in her eyes I haven’t seen before.

Hope.

She takes my hand. “Thank you.”

I shake my head. “Don’t thank me yet.”

*

The smell ofcigar smoke makes my nose itch as I wait in the corner booth of Sofie’s Deli on Eighth Avenue. It’s a tiny establishment in the city that doesn’t exactly look up to code but has had people coming and going since I sat down twenty minutes ago.

I look at my phone.

Twenty-threeminutes ago.

When the back door opens and a plume of smoke rolls in, it triggers old memories of my days spent in my father’s study. But all of those fade when Stefan Mangino casually sits in the spot across from me.

“Ms. Del Rossi,” he greets.

“Danforth,” I correct by default, earning the smallest curve of his mouth.

It takes everything in me not to fidget when he gives me a once-over, landing on the silver pendant hanging from my neck. “Of course,” he remarks, studying the GD engraved on the heart. “How could I forget?”

I don’t answer.

“I was surprised when Luca told me you requested a meeting,” he admits, smiling when an older woman brings overtwo drinks that neither of us ordered. “Thank you, Deidra. Tell Joseph I’ll return his call later about his proposal.”

---