Page 79 of Fiona and the Fixer

“You went into the FBI to put your father in prison,” I said, making sure I had the facts straight.

She nodded. Her cheeks were splotchy, and her eyes were red rimmed from crying, but she was as beautiful as ever. Perhaps more so now.

“I found my mother at the bottom of the stairs the morning after she took me and tried to run away from him. We got caught and he killed her because of it.”

Fuck. FUCK.

A sigh slipped from her like a leaky balloon. “Like Isaid, I was five. I knew he was bad then, but someone that age only understands so much. I learned quickly.”

The last sounded ominous.

“He hurt you,” I said, repeating the words I fucked from her.

She nodded again. “He did. He hit me, but the servants caught him doing it. Then he switched to words. I think the words were worse than the bruises.”

I kissed her. Couldn’t help it. Who saidwords were worse than fists?

“By the time I was eight, I understood the world I lived in. My father wasn’t in the mafia, but he worked with them. Shipped for them.”

Genovese Trucking was the biggest domestic shipping business in the country. Their semis were on every highway in the country. It had to be close to a billion-dollar company, especially if it was propped up with mafia money. Or had been.

Now, with the CEO in prison, the company still ran, but probably legally now.

“In that world, a wife didn’t leave,” she continued. “A wife didn’t take their child away. It showed poorly on the man. If he couldn’t handle his home life, the mafia figured he couldn’t handle their business.”

She huffed, which I thought was a laugh, but none of this shit was funny.

She was quiet for a moment, then said, “A wife couldn’t leave, but she could die.”

That was fucking true. I knew more than I wanted about the mafia.

“Your goal was to get a job at the FBI for, what? Justice?”

She nodded her head against my chest. “Definitely. It’s all I wanted. I went to college for criminal justice. For a while, I wanted to join the police force, but learned there was no chance they could take him down. Only the FBI could use the evidence I’d collected all those years I was stuck in that house.”

All those years? As a kid, she saved up proof of his illegal activities?

“So you joined.”

“Yes.”

“And you got justice.”

With a nod, she said, “Yes. He’s never getting out.”

I gave her a gentle squeeze. She was on my lap, letting me take care of her. Comfort her. Listen. Believe. “Good. That’s really fucking good, sweetheart.” Nitro was going to find out what prison he was in, and I’d make him dead.

Her black and white stance on the law made sense now. Her trust issues. Dead mother at the age of five. Cruel and sadistic father. A partner who tried to frame her.

“You’re not worthless like your father told you,” I told her. She didn’t believe the lies her father spewed, so why would she believe me? She needed actions. Validations. Proof.

She stirred. “Dax.”

I held her tight. “You’re not. You know it or you wouldn’t have done what you did. You showed him.”

A chuckle escaped. “Yeah, I did. I’m the infamous FBI agent who took down her own father. I’m the cold one. The ruthless agent who doesn’t feel. The one who follows the letter of the law.”

“Because if you didn’t, your father might have remained free.”

---