Page 55 of Bad Blood
My cheap shot chills the atmosphere in the room to minus figures. Even in his fifties,papácarries a gravitas that reduces grown men and wayward daughters to trembling, self-doubting heaps.
“Don’t try and understand it,mija,” he warns. “Just know that it brought light into a dark place.”
“You kidnapped her and forced her to marry you!”
“And she’s sofuckingunhappy about it.”
There’s a tic working hard in his jaw.
That’s another thing about my father. He doesn’t like to be questioned about anything. He parked his conscience a long time ago and lost the valet ticket on purpose.
“I don’t think much of your husband’s deference to his new family.” Taking a step toward me, he tosses his phone onto my lap. “Is this meant to be some kind of reverse dowry with spikes?”
Glancing sideways, I suddenly see why Sam was so angry.
“What happened?” I whisper, knowing how much he loved that place. The Barfly was Sam’s favorite property in Manhattan—the bar his father gave to him on his twenty-first birthday.
It’s nothing but burning embers and ash now.
“Unsubstantiated kitchen fire.” He takes back the cell with a vicious swipe. “I’ll give you one guess whose lieutenant was caught standing by the oven with a box of matches in his hand.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t have provoked him by graffitiing your scorpion all over his casino?”
“Maybe you should have stayed the right side of the fucking river,” he snarls, losing his temper. “This madness ends today, Thalia. You’ve had your fun. You’ve caught my attention—”
“Yourattention?” I jump to my feet, the sharp claws of indignation slashing at my self-control. “I’ve been ignoring your calls for the past month because I didn’twantyour damn attention! I needed to fly—without getting my wings pulled off for once.”
“Straight into Carrera’s net?” He shakes his head in disgust. “I gave you too much freedom,mija.I never should have let you come to New York.”
“I never expected you to like this. I know how you feel about—”
“I’ve never much cared for the word ‘like’,” he muses darkly. “It doesn’t describe ‘premeditated murder’ in the way it should.”
“You’re unbelievable!” I cry. “Stomp, stomp, stomp, all over everything. I’m done talking about this. You can see yourself out.”
I’m halfway to the door when he starts speaking again.
“There’s a bag packed and ready on your bed,mija...I suggest you choose wisely.”
“Choose what?” I say, turning back slowly, knowing that any option he gives me is going to be a one-way ticket to heartache.
“You can either leave with me today and return to the island, or the sniper I have trained on the black Aston Martin halfway down the street outside gets the call he’s been waiting for.” He holds up his cell to show me he’s not messing around.Not that I’d ever accuse him of that.“Santi Carrera is a vindictive shit... Yesterday, he sent an envelope of fake documents to Rick Sanders’s office which showed him rigging ballet boxes. It took ten million dollars to make it go away.”
“How do you know they were fake?” I mutter defiantly. “Uncle Rick doesn’t strike me as the kind of man who always plays by the rules.”
“That’s beside the point,” he snaps. “Carrera will be reaping the repercussions of that little stunt very soon. Rick’s son is seeing to it personally.”
I don’t like the sound of that. I know what Sam’s like. Revenge is his favorite pastime.
I feel tired suddenly. So very tired.
“How’smamá?” I ask, missing her quiet diplomacy, now more than ever. She’s the only person who can calmpapáwhen he’s a raging inferno of malevolence like this.
“Pissed… Hurt.” His eyes narrow, and my stomach drops. When Ella and I were young we were always in the worst kinds of trouble with him when we did something to upset her. “Same as your sister, in fact.”
Ella.
I’ve been trying to reach her for a whole day now, and she’s still not picking up. I glance around for her stuff, but there’s no laptop, no speaker system, none of her clothes are draped over the back of the couches…
