Page 45 of Cruel Existence

I chuckled, playing the game. “Soon. But the bid for the Vieux Carre is in two days. I can’t act before then.”

My father tsked. “You are right. It will draw too much attention.”

“Though I don’t expect him to win, I have to take him out after the bank signs the contracts over.”

“Good. Good. You are thinking like a Sovietnik. I am proud. Ivan would be too.”

“Give my best to Katya and Andrey, will you? And Babushka of course.”

My father chuckled. “Gladly.”

I stepped out of my father’s office, closing the doors behind me. I felt an invisible hand clasp around my neck, strangling the air from my throat and reaching into my chest cutting off oxygen to my lungs. I burst into the backyard, gasping for air.

What the fuck had I agreed to do? I had lost Amara forever, but I wouldn’t lose her from this earth.

I would protect her at all costs.

Nineteen

AMARA

“Iwant you to look at these.” A folder fell into my lap. I glanced at my father. He was dressed casually today. It was Saturday. A polo and khakis made him look like he was outfitted for yard work. He rarely budged from his Italian suits.

“What?”

“Numbers on last quarter,” he explained before walking away. “Go over them, and I’ll see you in my office in an hour to discuss how we can project the fourth quarter. Take notes. Have them ready.”

“Really?”

“Financials aren’t something I joke about.” His eyes were softer than his voice, but I knew to take him seriously. “Ask yourUncle Gio.”

“Of course not.” I pressed my lips together. “I’ll meet you in an hour.”

I didn’t argue, but I stared at the back of my father’s head as he disappeared from the living room. I was watching a marathon ofChoose Cheerbefore he interrupted. I pressed the mute button on the remote and flipped open the file. The spreadsheets were clipped together. I began to leaf through them.

I’d never seen his profit and loss statements before. Why now?

I sorted the reports into stacks. I only had an hour to make sense of them. That didn’t leave me much time. I was also painfully aware I was still in my pajamas. My hair was pulled up in a messy bun. I hadn’t bothered with makeup. I’d resorted to the same routine for days. A week. Since the horrible afternoon when I last saw Luka.

When he had kicked me out of his bed. Out of his apartment. Out of his life.

The first two days I stayed in bed, curled into a ball. I was too numb or sore to move. Too sick to eat. If I thought about him or remembered the way he saidty moyaand I repeated it back to him, my stomach twisted until I was queasy.

I clung to my pillow, sometimes clawing it, punching it, sobbing into it. Why? I cycled through the same questions. Why seduce me? Why promise me an escape? Why take me to an ethereal realm of sex and passion only to dunk me beneath an icy surface? He pursued me relentlessly. Why?

Something had to change. I couldn’t continue like this. Staying in bed. Living in Pjs. Turning my nose up at food. Financials might be the solution I had never considered. I drew the files into my arms and marched upstairs to my suite. I could apply makeup and read financials at the sametime.

By the time I entered my father’s office, Tammy, one of the maids, was on her way out. She had left a tray of tea. It was the full silver service, something my father usually reserved for important clients. Something that was hauled out and polished to demonstrate he had taste. He was as refined as any other man.

“Sit,” my father spoke. He pointed to the table by the bay window. It jutted out into the garden close to one of the fountains.

“Over here?” I usually sat on one side of the desk, and he on the other. Always being scolded and instructed like a student.

“Yes, Tammy brought tea. She said you like orange. I’ve never tried it.”

“I do. Thank you.” I carried the file with me and sat at the table. This felt off. I cautiously prepared my tea with a few sugar cubes, stirring them gently in the fine porcelain cup.

The tea service had been a wedding gift from my grandparents. I’d heard about it several times. How much my mother loved it. How she liked to polish it herself, afraid one of the servants would scratch it.

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