“How much?”
“Two million.”
I stare at him. “Two million dollars.”
“I know it sounds like a lot, but you’re rich now. Dante left you everything. Two million is nothing to someone with your resources.”
“My resources?”
“The Moretti fortune. You inherited millions, Kasi. Surely you can spare?—”
“Stop.” I hold up a hand, bile rising in my throat. “Just stop talking.”
“I don’t understand why you’re angry.” He steps forward. “If not for me, you never would have met Dante. You never would have inherited any of his properties. You should be grateful?—”
“Can you even hear yourself?”
The voice comes from the doorway, cold and deadly. Alaric stands there in his business suit, his green eyes blazing with a fury I’ve never seen before.
“But it’s the truth, Mr. Moretti. If not for me, she wouldn’t have inherited any of Dante’s properties,” my father continues, oblivious to the danger. “She owes her current wealth to my sacrifice.”
19
ALARIC
The man standingin my sitting room has the audacity to suggest my wife should be grateful for being sold like livestock.
“Can you even hear yourself?” I repeat, stepping fully into the room.
Marcus Vale turns toward me, and I see where Kasimira gets her bone structure. But where her face holds strength and defiance, his shows only weakness and desperation.
“Mr. Moretti,” he says, attempting a smile that looks more like a grimace. “Thank you for taking such good care of my daughter.”
“Your daughter?” I walk closer, watching him shrink back. “The daughter you sold to pay your debts?”
“It wasn’t like that?—”
“It was exactly like that.” I stop three feet away from him, close enough that he has to crane his neck to meet my eyes. “You traded your child for money. What would you call it?”
“A business arrangement that benefited everyone involved.”
Kasimira makes a sound like she’s been punched. When I glance at her, tears are streaming down her face.
“Benefited everyone?” I turn back to Marcus, my voice dropping to the tone that makes grown men wet themselves. “Your daughter spent two years being psychologically tortured by a sociopath. How exactly did that benefit her?”
“She’s rich now,” Marcus says, as if that explains everything. “Richer than she ever could have been otherwise.”
“Because the man you sold her to is dead.”
“But she inherited his fortune. Surely that counts for?—”
“For what? For the two years of abuse? For the trauma? For the fact that she tried to kill herself twice while she was with him?”
Kasimira’s sharp intake of breath tells me I’ve revealed more than she wanted him to know. But I don’t care. This pathetic excuse for a father needs to understand what his “business arrangement” cost.
Marcus’s face goes pale. “I didn’t know?—”
“You didn’t want to know. You got your money and walked away.”
