Page 629 of Filthy Elites

“You can’t rush these things.” He holds up his phone. The phone which currently has the video of me and the pictures. “A man needs to think when he holds so much power in his hands.”

Bastard. Fucking bastard. I wish I could slap that smirk off his face. If I could, I would do so quicker than a heartbeat.

“Have you thought?”

“I have, but I need some answers that will become important to my decision.”

“Answers to what?”

“What do you need the money for?”

I knew he was going to ask me that again. I just hoped he wouldn’t. Now’s not the time to hold on to my pride and plans that will amount to nothing if he screws me over.

Swallowing past the constriction cloying at my throat, I push my shoulders back and decide I’ll play nice if it helps me.

“For college.”

“Youhave to pay for your college tuition?” He looks me over with disbelief. “Your parents aren’t coughing it up? I find that hard to believe.”

“My mother doesn’t want me to go to UCLA.”

“Why?”

This is so awkward. I don’t want to talk about this to him or anyone else. “Because it’s in L.A.”

“That can’t be the only reason; what’s the rest?”

I sigh and try to hold in my frustration. “She wants me here. Near her. She doesn’t want me around my father when he gets out of prison.”

“Now we’re talking. And I’m guessing you’re daddy’s girl. So, no matter what that bastard did, you’ll still love him anyway, and you’re ready to forgive his ass.”

“No. That’s not it at all.” I shake my head, but I feel like a hypocrite inside. “Look, I don’t want to be here, but my mother will cut me off if I leave. That’s why I’m still here and why I had to come back when you threatened me. I don’t want to be at this school, and I don’t want to go to Raventhorn University either when the time comes. I don’t want to live a life of crime and shady shit.”

He looks me up and down. I know I was offensive, but I don’t care. He asked and that’s the answer.

“Your father is worse than any Bratva man I know, and that’s saying something considering most of them love going to prison and love showing off how many times they’ve been.”

“This isn’t about my father.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Then I’m not talking to you about him.”

“You will speak about whatever I want you to speak about. You lived a life of crime your whole life and never even knew. And I’ll fucking bet you don’t even know half of what your old man got up to.”

Mom’s words come back to me, and I wonder if he might know more about what Dad did. He must do if he’s saying such things.

“I want to take care of myself,” I state, bringing the subject back to me. “I plan to leave New York as soon as I have the money.”

“How much were you hoping to make?”

“A hundred grand.” I feel even worse confirming that because it gives him an idea of the length of time I was going to be with the agency and what I was possibly going to do to make that much.

He stares back at me for a few moments, and I wonder if this is it. We’re just going to stand here until the sun goes down, and he’s going to torture me with silence.

“Can you say something, please?” I ball my hand into a fist and slam it against the side of my leg.

“Tonight, you will resign from the agency.”

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