Page 25 of Blood Lust

He swallowed hard and shook his head.

“You’re scaring me,” I told him, because something had obviously left him shaken.

“Alia, I need you to have a seat.”

“No, Dad.”

“Alia!” he barked.

Blinking rapidly, I stared at him, hurt and confused.

He immediately winced. “I’m sorry. Please, this is important. I need you to sit down and listen closely to what I have to say.”

“Okay,” I whispered and sat on the edge of the worn couch cushion. He took a seat next to me.

In no way was I prepared for the story he told me.

“I’m gambling again,” he admitted, dropping his gaze in shame.

My shoulders drooped and I pinched the bridge of my nose. Like I’d told Merin, I was afraid of this. “How much?”

“It’s more complicated than that,” he practically wheezed out.

A chill skated over me, and I shuddered. Taking a deep breath, I waited for him to continue.

“I’m not a salesman,passerotta.”

He’d called me little sparrow.

It was what he used to call me when I was younger, but he only used that now if he had really messed up. My stomach cramped.

“I am asoldatofor the Chicago family,” he whispered. “And I made a grave error.”

My chest caved, and my lungs fought for oxygen. Surely, I’d heard wrong. I had to have heard wrong.

“I fell asleep editing. I’m having a terrible dream,” I muttered to myself, but my father continued to shake his head with a woeful expression as he pulled his lips between his teeth.

“What did you do?” I whispered as I covered my mouth with both hands.

“I was given a good tip,” he began, and I groaned.

“Oh, Dad, no.” I was afraid I knew where this was going.

“I thought I would use the money to make this bet, triple the money, and be able to put a down payment on a little house. The money I borrowed would be back where it belonged, and no one would know but me.”

“But you lost, and they found out,” I guessed, praying I was wrong.

He nodded and I closed my eyes. Ice poured through my veins, and I trembled.

“How much?” I whispered, my voice sounding like I’d swallowed razorblades.

“Ninety-five thousand,” he regretfully admitted.

I almost choked. “Dad, what are you going to do?” I cried.

“The don… he offered me a deal.”

“What kind of deal?” That sounded horrible—like something from an old movie. One that, unlike the books I edited, didn’t have a happy ending.

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