Page 43 of Reckless Sinner

These photos had been taken on the sly, at odd angles, a little blurred, but their subject matter was still plain to see. It was Alan Weston, his hand in Delaney’s hair, dragging her like a fucking rag doll up the stairs.

Delaney’s face was streaked with tears.

“He locked her in her room,” my father added. “They could hear her screaming for him to let her out.”

“Who?”

“The cleaning guy that we paid off to keep an eye on Weston,” Vincent added.

I swallowed. He was going to fucking pay for this. He was never going to touch Delaney again. I would make sure of it.

“What do I owe you?” I asked.

Even as I asked the question, my mind raced ahead. I had to get Delaney out of that house. I had to help her. Nothing my father asked me for would get in the way of that.

My father and Vincent exchanged a look. A part of me hated how they could communicate soundlessly, envious of that easy understanding and intimacy, even though I knew I had never had that with either of them and never would.

“I think we can all agree that Alan Weston is a man that needs to be eliminated,” my father said at last, looking at me. “Don’t you?”

I had no words for that.

Neither my father nor my brother seemed to expect me to. I swallowed, my throat, my entire body, feeling dry.

“I’m still not a murderer,” I said quietly. I hardly recognized my voice.

“We’re not saying you have to be,” Vincent said. “We’re saying you need to get rid of a problem. You’ve always been clever, Dante. Feel free to get creative.”

The car finished pulling around the block and stopped in front of my apartment building again. My father nodded at the printed photos still in my lap. Still crushed between my clenched, shaking fingers. The evidence of what that bastard had done to Delaney, his own daughter.

Was any of this really better than what Alan did? Was Alan better than my father, or vice versa? Or were they simply different kinds of darkness?

“Keep the photos,” my father said. “They’ll keep you focused.”

I was being dismissed, and while I wanted to rail at them—I didn’t even know what to say. I felt numb all over.

I opened the door and got out, the car pulling away the moment that I shut the door behind myself again. I shoved the photos into my coat.

When I got back into the lobby, the doorman cleared his throat. “Mr. Russo? You haven’t been out all day and then you were rushing a little but—earlier, a guy stopped by. Government type. He said that he’d spoken to you before and he had a few follow-up questions.”

Agent Kaminsky. Shit. The absolute last thing I needed right now was this guy on my case again. “Thank you. I’ll deal with it.”

“He left his card.” The thin, small white piece of paper was handed to me.

I took it and slipped it into my wallet with his other card. I should throw both of them out but… not quite yet. I would have to do some digging on this Kaminsky, see how clean or dirty he was.

And then I had to figure out what to do about my father’s assignment. His order. And how I would save Delaney.

That came first. Saving Delaney. At any cost.

CHAPTER20

Delaney

I’d never done any kind of home construction work before. I knew how to clean, of course, my father had made sure of that. He’d made sure of so many things.

Someday you’ll be running your own house and you’ll need to make sure your cleaning service did a good job.

How had he made things sound so logical? Even now, thinking back, many of the things he’d said to me felt so sensible. How did I know what was right and what was wrong anymore? How did I even know whoIwas anymore? Who was Delaney, the real Delaney, and who was the Delaney that her father had molded into a tool for his own use?

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