Page 75 of The Freedom in Captivity

“I don’t think he realized his own actions either because he just stood there. After the longest minute of my life—Istillrelive that moment—I managed to get the door open and he didn’t stop me.”

Eight.

“I was shook but also not…because I’d noticed bruises on Mom’s arms too. She never mentioned them and when I asked, she ignored me. But I understood in that moment.”

Nine. This time, for her mother.

“That wasn’t the only time,” I state, my voice deeper, my throat feeling impossibly tight. There were marks on her shoulder once, her upper arm; I’ve seen others. De Falco didn’t stop after the one time, accident or otherwise. The teenage rage I felt every time I found a bruise on her, every time she denied its existence or how she got it, that was child’s play compared to the deadly rage coursing through me now, igniting a fresh wave of wrath.

My hands grip her face tighter, stealing the physical reminder that she’sherewith me. She’s safe from him.

For eleven years, I haven’t been able to breathe normal. Since the day she walked away from me.

But for the first time in years, I breathe.

Her.

Me.

“Ow.” She flinches. “Flynn, you’re hurting me.”

I want to claim I don’t care because her pain is to remind us both she’s not with him any longer, but I do, and it takes a long, steadying breath before I release her face and instead, grip her hips, pulling her against me. She can feel the steady beat of my heart like this, can know how she’s affecting me with her story, no matter the walls I’ve pretended to be building between us this entire time.

She tips her head up, our lips only an inch away. The angle causes her hair to brush along the back of my hand, a feeling I’ve missed over the years.

“That wasn’t the only time,” I prompt again through clenched teeth.

“No,” she agrees. “But I won’t relive every one.”

“Not good enough, Rozelyn.” I’m not asking her to relive her trauma, just to extinguish the flames burning inside me. The erratic noises in my head.

She shakes her head. “No, Flynn, but I’ll say that after Mom died, it got worse, not better. Dad lost control after that. So much of his planning had begun to slip away. I believe his mind actually snapped, and that’s not a joke. If it wouldn’t have gotten me hurt, I would have recommended he go see a psychologist.”

It’s been eleven years since she walked away from me. Eleven years of abuse. “Eleven years of this,” I voice my thoughts.

“Yes and no. Dad buckled down and went into planning mode. After Mom’s death, even he went into mourning for a while. For a few months, he seemed to have lost focus. Direction. I felt for him then obviously but looking back now,” she scoffs, “the grief, I think, is what did it. He felt his plan collapsing and all that quiet time was dangerous. Whatever insanity went through his head at the time eventually led him to Della’s mother. I was so hurt to see Mom being replaced, but he claimed he didn’t love her, which I suppose made it a bit better, even if I didn’t understand. I didn’t know anything about B.C. or the Seven or who he truly was at that time.”

“The abuse during those months?” Not a complete question but thankfully, she gets it.

“A bit more infrequent,” she says matter-of-factly. It’s her shutting it down again. The violence is a shadow in her gaze; a dark fact she can’t run from, not completely. “Occasional but maybe he was hiding his true monstrous self from Della’s mother.”

“This whole time you’ve been biding your time.”

“I guess.” One corner of her mouth lifts into a sad smile. “As years passed, Dad admitted his background, his job, his purpose of being in Montreal. It’s shocking to hear shit like that, and then I was pissed. Atthem, athim. His entire marriage to Mom, the marriage deal between me and Hawke, our entire lives were fabricated as part of some elaborate scheme becausetheydemanded this task of him. It was a giant test that drove him mad. Two decades later, I barely understand how they’re still waiting for him to accomplish this. Makes you wonder what they’re thinking.”

It does, but I’m more focused on her story right now. Clinging to every single syllable as I plan De Falco’s most painful death.

“When Della succeeded…and Dad failed, even when having Nico in hand, he realized how much he fucked up. When Della made the deal to get her and Ariella free, he tracked her out west. Once Nico found her, Dad demanded Yasmine and I pack what we could, and we hid out in the city, watching and waiting. He knew it was a matter of time before Della completely turned on him and led the Corsettis to our house.”

Which is exactly what happened. I didn’t go with them that day because Nico had me stay back and prepare the basement for our would-be captive if they managed to get De Falco.

“Then it kept going.” She sighs, her body sagging even lower. “Dad realized with Lawrence Haynes still alive, he risked being exposed. He hired mercenaries to avoid using his own men to take them out. Dad also couldn’t chance, once heading home, the Haynes’ lives being tracked back to him because the moment he disobeyed the Seven’s orders was also the day he betrayed his own people. Ironic, huh?” She smirks, a lightness once again entering her eyes. “Deceived them in order to obey another command from them. But that’s my father. He’s wound himself up in so many complicated plots and deceit that nothing makes sense anymore.”

“Then he escaped to B.C.” Leaving his own daughter as a scapegoat and I bet, didn’t think twice about it. The Haynes were disposable to him, so were Della and her family, as well as Rozelyn.

Flickers of sadness travel through her eyes, but they’re gone as quickly as they arrived. She coughs and straightens, feigning being okay.

I, meanwhile, am stuck. Stuck between thinking I need to leave and standing stonily in place, holding her, wanting to remain.

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