Page 27 of Protégé King

That does it. I’m triggered. “He’s my father. I can’t be the only one who doesn’t know what is going on with him. And who are you? There was a time when you’d have understood that.”

“I told you—”

“You told me nothing, and the way you told me nothing was not okay. Tell me.”

“Alana,” he says softly, his tone intimate, his hands falling to his sides and reaching for me.

I step backward, out of his reach. “Tell me.”

His jaw flexes and tics before his hands fall to his sides. “He started gambling at the track in Jersey, which limited him.”

“When?”

“Years. I don’t know how far back. The real problem came last year. He decided to go bigger and wider with his habit.”

My stomach drops. My father has always been about bigger and wider, but with too limited a view. “Define bigger and wider,” I urge.

“He got a bookie, and when he lost money, he borrowed money from the bookie. The bookie is associated with what might as well be the modern mafia. If they say you’re dead, you’re dead. If they say you will pay, you will pay, even if it’s with the life of a loved one.”

I swallow hard. “They threatened my mother?”

“Yes,” he replies. “They threatened your mother.”

Now I want to throw up. I hug myself. “How did you find this out?”

“My company and family name allows me the resources to find out about anything I want, when I want.” It’s not an arrogant statement, simply a statement of fact.

Of course, it is, I think. My heartbeat is a stampede of wild horses running through my chest right now. I can’t even think of the when, where, and how he gathers his information. This information. “How much does he owe?”

“He’d accumulated a large debt,” he replies.

“How large?” I push.

“Large enough for those people to make threats and mean them.”

“They sold their house to pay them back,” I argue. “My mother told me that last night, when I was outside, right before you walked up.”

“I know,” he replies. “But it wasn’t enough.”

“The house was paid off. They had a ton of equity in it. Hundreds of thousands of dollars.”

“I know,” is all he replies.

My throat is dry. “Okay. Okay, so they owe money. How did you make this go away?”

“It doesn’t matter. I made it go away, but you have to control him—”

“How, Damion?” I demand and I can feel the twist of anxiety inside me. I know what is coming—I know—but I don’t want it to be so. “How?”

“I paid them off,” he replies tightly.

Confirmation is not sweet, not at all. “How much?” He opens his mouth, and I can tell it’s to blow me off. I point at him. “How much?”

“Five hundred thousand.”

“You paid it?” I ask in utter disbelief. “They still owed—you paid it? All of it?”

“They did and I did. It’s handled, but I can’t do more, not now. You have to keep him out of trouble.”

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