Page 66 of The Freedom in Captivity

“Why would he do that?”

“Why does my dad do anything?”

Why did he hit me so many times?

Why did he hurt Mom?

Why did he hurt Della and Ariella’s mother too?

Why do anything?

Why be that loyal to an institution that is clearly using you?

Why do I feel like I’ve given up? All my determination to ensure the Corsettis do it on my terms, do itright, to get his ass and drag him to the executioner table. To end the pain and suffering he’s brought into my life…to Yasmine’s. Mom’s. My ex-stepsisters.

Gone.

This needs to end.

My mind is broken. That must be the reason for this sudden shift. Nothing else makes sense, but also, nothing else matters either.

And within my broken mind, like a movie playing on speed two-hundred, I relive every hit. Every bruise. Every raise of his hand. Every bellow.

“Because then he owned them. Don’t ask for details because I have no idea who, but before he left, he told me he was having them dealt with. That’s all I know, but I’ll assume it was Dad’s way of tying up loose ends. He had their deaths faked, and with him on the run, he couldn’t risk Lawrence saying anything to the Corsettis.”

“Thank you, Rozelyn.” Spoken softer than I could have ever imagined him able to speak. Kind words, gentle tone, they’re almost wrong coming from his lips.

Flynn approaches again and reaches for me. I lean closer, craving his touch. The way he’ll stroke my cheek like I’m a doll, even when we both know I’m anything but delicate. Both of us, bound by our pasts.

His—a motherless past and a father who didn’t give two shits about him. Neglected as a child, despised as a teenager.

Mine—living with Dad’s frustrations. Knowing Mom took every hit. Always behind closed doors, away from the prying eyes of Yasmine and me. It was their attempt at shielding us from the grimness of their life. Until she was no longer here, and for all his hate, I learned then, despite marrying her for her family name, knowing it’s one in many steps to get him noticed by the Corsettis, he truly loved Mom. I never understood why he abused someone he genuinely loved, but I’m sure Dad’s not mentally stable, and doubt he ever was.

I believed after Mom’s death, everything would be okay. Or, as well as ‘okay’ can be without her. I’d hoped Dad’s mood would shift into only love for Yasmine and me since we’re the living forms of his deceased wife.

Yasmine, sure. She was a product of their love, but my biological father was a nobody from before their marriage. Mom was shunned and forced to give me up when I was a baby. Stefano was all I knew as a father. He was Dad in every sense of the word, and for many years, I was dumb enough to believe I was also his daughter. Without Mom, all his hate shifted to me. When I fought back, it got worse. If he drank, it was even worse. He drank a lot, as news and calls from back home were piling up.

It was fine because it kept him away from Yasmine.

Perhaps that’s why he told me the truth. I wonder how aware Mom was, but if he’s replaced her with me, he needed a confidant. Although, I frequently believed it was his way of explaining every slap, every punch. He believed if he provided a reasoning for his troubles, it’d excuse his actions.

It never did. Nothing had.

But I wasn’t silent the whole time. I didn’t have a plan then. I didn’t know how to end this or get away from him. With every hit, my hate for him festered. Itching inside my heart, seizing my body, firing through my veins.

Dad sealed his own death the moment he made me into one of his many soldiers, clamouring for his attention. Paid to assist him in his decades-long drive. At this point, I’m unsure if he even remembers why he’s doing what he’s doing. His obsession has long taken over. All the pieces he put into place stacked on top of one another, creating a confusing mess I’m not sure he can get out of.

Let alone recollect why it’s so important for him to complete this task forthem. Everything in his life—my life, Mom’s, Yasmine’s—has been intheirname. That family is more important than the manufactured one he created here.

We’reonly here because of them.We’re a façade. A deception. A smoke show for his purpose.

“Mon soleil.”

Did I imagine that?

Pressure strokes over my cheek, and coolness follows.

“Rozelyn, you’re crying.”

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