Page 26 of Blood Lust

“If you agree to go to him—” He paused and sobbed. “—for six months, he will wipe my debt away.”

“What?” It came out as barely audible because my throat was closing and the room was spinning. I had to lean forward and put my forehead on my knees. Bile rose in my throat, and I swallowed it back down.

“We’ll find another way. I still have some contacts. We’ll get you out of the country,” he frantically offered.

Shaking my head, I stared at him in absolute disbelief.

“Dad, we’re talking about themafia,” I whispered furiously. “Even if I get out of the country, they will kill you.”

My father may have kept his true life away from me, but that didn’t mean I was ignorant. People talked.La Cosa Nostrawas nothing to play with, and yet my father had been doing it my whole life.

And I’d had no clue. No. Fucking. Idea.

“Dad, how do you know he will uphold thisdeal? He’s acriminal!” Fucking hell. So was my father. I shot to my feet and grabbed my hair in my fists as I paced.

“He is an honorable man. One I should’ve know not to cross, but he is fair and his word is solid. He would not go back on it. I’ve known him his whole life, even before he became the boss.”

“It’s Mario?” I gasped as I tried to piece everything together in a manner that could make something—anything—make sense.

“No,” he murmured, mouth turned down as his lower lip trembled. “Mario, he is my capo.Capo Crimine, the don, is Signore De Luca. He is who made the offer.”

“Jesus Christ,” I breathed. Growing up as an Italian girl in Chicago, I’d heard of the De Lucas. One did not cross them and be heard from again. If I didn’t do this, they would kill my father. Then again, they still could. I wanted to vomit. My father was all I had left. I had no other family other than a distant cousin of my mom’s in New York who was in her nineties and senile.

My dad and I had started off rough, but I did love him. He had a good heart, which was why I couldn’t believe he’d been living a secret life that was probably darker than I could’ve imagined. I’d never paid a lot of attention to the details of the mafia in Chicago because it was so far removed from my life—well, at least that’s what I had always believed.

Holy fucking shit.

“I’ll go. He said it’s only for six months, right?” So much could happen in six months. He could do so many atrocious things to me. My mind went haywire with everything bombarding it.

“Alia,” my father began, but I held up a hand.

“No. Neither of us have that kind of money, and I’m not going to let anything happen to you. You’re the only family I have left. You said he’s ultimately honorable. Right?”

“He is, butbella, sweetheart. You don’t know this life. What you will be expected to do.” Tears filled my father’s eyes, and though I was sick to my stomach, I was also so very angry that he’d allowed something like this to happen.

Because of his sickness, he had put us both in danger. I chastised myself for not being firmer when I wanted to get him into therapy. Fury bubbled up my throat.

“Maybe you should’ve thought of that before you decided to gamble with the mafia’s money!” I hissed but immediately felt horrible because my father looked as if I’d struck him. Yet, we were in this position because of his actions. I wasn’t lying or wrong.

Softening my tone, I sat back down and placed my hand over my father’s. “We will do this, but I personally want his word that you won’t be harmed. Dad, you’re my only family.”

My eyes welled, blurring my vision. When I blinked, a tear overflowed and rolled down my cheek.

Gently, he brushed it away with his thumb. “I’m so sorry I failed you. I never meant for this life to touch you.”

“While I’m with him, I want you to go to meetings. Therapy. You need help. That’smydeal. Understand?”

“Anything,passerotta. I swear to you.”

Pressing my lips flat to keep from sobbing, I closed my eyes and nodded. Once I had control of myself, I opened them. “How long do I have?”

“Until tomorrow,” he whispered.

I hadn’t slept a wink all night. My head was pounding, and I’d thrown up three times in the last hour. In a show of good faith, and in hopes that Signore De Luca would agree to my terms, I’d packed a suitcase. I had my laptop with me because part of my terms was that I would be able to work—though I wasn’t sure how my brain was going to function.

We had taken the Red Line downtown, then hopped a bus that we took to a building that overlooked Millennium Park. The lake would be visible from higher floors, I imagined. A doorman held the entrance open as we passed through, and he addressed my father by name.

The lobby was bright and spacious. It was full of people in business attire who seemed to be oblivious to the identity of one of the building’s tenants.

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