Page 140 of The Dark Obsession

His shoulders stiffen yet he doesn’t turn around to look at me. I don’t think the man knows Tyson’s true identity since he’s presumed dead, but he had to suspect this is the Camorra’s doing.

And honestly, I just couldn’t help myself.

The meek girl who let him walk all over her is gone. Along with all the remaining respect I had for my parents.

“Is that what he told you?” He grinds his teeth. “And you trust that man over your own father?”

The bastard is seriously going to deny it, looking for a falter in my conviction to gaslight me.

“He didn't tell me anything, I found out on my own.” I hold my ground.

I need an explanation, if not for me than for my brother’s sake.

And maybe a tiny kernel deep within me still clings to the hope that his past actions are redeemable, that there’s still something to salvage here.

“Do you have nothing to say for yourself?” I press on.

“No, they meant nothing to me.” His voice is empty, indifferent.

He truly doesn’t care.

“Were you planning on telling me they exist?”

“Their existence is of no consequence, they’re useless. Not even their fucking mother could offer me the connections I deserved. All because I wasn’t born Italian.” He spits out.

“Only the Russian don’t have their heads that far up their asses to appreciate my potential.”

How can he talk like that about his own children. Without a hint of remorse, without any empathy.

Is this all his children are to him? Tools to be used and when they don’t turn out the way it suits him, he just discards them.

“Do I have any more siblings you failed to mention?”

“Of course not. Don’t be ridiculous, Malory!” My father barks.

Right, because it’s so far-fetched to believe him capable of that. There are still a few years between mine and Raffaele’s birth that are unaccounted for.

“Would you tell me the truth?”

He has the nerve to look enraged, almost wounded by the question, going back to blatantly ignoring me.

That’s it.

Every ounce of hatred Tyson harbored towards him has been without a doubt well justified. And my father just sealed his own, damned fate.

“How did you find us?”

“I had facial recognition installed on every traffic camera in the city. The SFPD can be very cooperative with the right endorsement.”

Oh fuck.

I haven’t been wearing Tyson’s hat and sunglasses. We’ve become too confident, careless and now he’s going to pay the price for it.

I felt so safe and protected around him that masking my identity completely slipped my mind.

“I was starting to lose hope of ever finding you after my men went missing. Though we got back their dismembered bodies, fucking shredded to pieces, Camorra style. I hear the scum I fathered have made quite the name for themselves in LA.” He adds bitterly, thinking it’s them who had me kidnapped.

Meaning my father has kept up with their lives to a degree, but not enough to know about Tyson’s vendetta against him.

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