“I thought he’d treat her well. He seemed like a gentleman?—”
“He beat her. Raped her. Made her believe she was worthless.” Each word is a bullet aimed at his conscience. “But you got two million dollars, so I suppose that made it worthwhile.”
“I never meant for her to be hurt. I thought?—”
“You thought about yourself. About your debts. About saving your own skin.” I step closer, and he actually backs against the wall. “You never thought about her.”
“Please, Mr. Moretti. I just need help. Two million dollars. It’s nothing to someone with your resources.”
The man is unbelievable. Even after everything I’ve just told him, he’s still asking for money.
“You want two million dollars?”
“Just a loan. I’ll pay it back with interest?—”
“From what? Your gambling winnings?”
His face flushes red. “I’ve learned my lesson. I won’t make the same mistakes?—”
“You’re making them right now.” I glance at Kasimira, who’s watching this exchange with horrified fascination. “You came here to use her again. To exploit the wealth she gained from two years of hell.”
“It’s not like that?—”
“Then leave.”
“Mr. Moretti, please. I’m her father. Surely family means?—”
“You stopped being her family the day you put a price tag on her.”
Marcus turns to Kasimira, desperation making him bold. “Kasi, sweetheart, please. I know I made mistakes, but I’m still your father. You can’t just abandon me.”
“Like you abandoned me?” Her voice is barely a whisper.
“I never abandoned you. I found you a good husband?—”
“You found me a buyer.”
“Dante had money. I thought you’d have a good life?—”
“I thought about killing myself every day for two years.”
The words hit the room like a bomb. Marcus staggers backward, but then his expression shifts to something calculating.
“But you didn’t,” he says. “You survived. And now you’re stronger, richer, and more powerful than you ever could have been. Doesn’t that count for?—”
“Get out.” Kasimira’s voice is deadly quiet.
“Kasi, please?—”
“GET OUT!”
Marcus takes a step toward her, reaching for her arm. “Just listen to me for five minutes. If you’d just?—”
His fingers close around her wrist, and everything goes red.
I cross the room in two strides, grab Marcus by the throat, and slam him against the wall hard enough to rattle the paintings. His feet leave the floor as I lift him up, my fingers digging into his windpipe.
“Don’t. Touch. Her.”
