I didn’t know why I did it; maybe it was the adrenaline coursing through my veins, but my lips curved up as I shook my head in disbelief. “Are you suggesting I break up with her again to make thiseasierfor you?”
“You said it,” he smirked.
Don’t punch your girlfriend’s dad because he’s making sense...
“And you know I am right,” he added.
I gritted my teeth and took a breath through my nose. “No. I love your daughter.”
“If you loved her, you’d let her go.”
“Yeah? Look at how well that went the first time I did that,” I retorted.
“We’re getting off-topic... If you’re going to stay, you’re going to have to get used to lying to her real fast.” Mark took a seat again, returning his focus to the folder as he leafed through it. “It shouldn’t be too hard for you. You’ve been lying for most of your adult life.”
I could only stare at him as the information stacked up into a giant clusterfuck of problems before me. Then, like the grand cherry on top, Mark pulled out a sheet of paper and slid it across the table to me. Printed across the first line was my mother’s name.
I didn’t read the rest — couldn’t read the rest as anger slowly bubbled up beneath the surface of my skin. Instead, I lifted my gaze to the detective. “What the fuck is this?”
“Are you aware that your mother failed to apply for citizenship? We’re aware you and your father had one, but there’s nothing for her...”
My fingers curled against the underside of my chair, and there was a subtle pounding in my head with realization. Dad never bothered with one for her. He made sure she rarely left the house. He kept her like a housewife and sucked any joy from her life once we moved to the States on promises he failed to keep.
Mark continued spitefully, “It’d be a shame if immigration were to find out—”
“She’s in a fuckin’ wheelchair.” My jaw clenched so tight I thought my teeth might crack.
He stood and casually collected the papers while I remained still. On the inside, I was thinking of the probable consequences of throwing a detective through a window.
Prison time was on my horizon. What’s one more charge of assault gonna change?
While I remained unmoving, my eyes followed Mark's every step as he approached my side of the table. Stopping directly beside me, he leaned against the edge of the table. “I’m guessing she’s aware of what you’ve done too? I would hate to see her face the consequence of that—”
The chair beneath me tipped back with force as I shot to my feet and punched Mark across the face. He staggered sideways, clutching his cheek, before I grabbed the front of his shirt and forced him to stay upright.
I lifted my fist again but hesitated.
“I’d beverycareful with what you do next, Dean,” he smirked as he rubbed his reddening cheekbone.
The interview room door swung open, and several detectives barged in, yelling at me to release the sergeant. But Mark raised a hand to them, silencing them as they halted in the doorway while his eyes never left mine.
He quirked an eyebrow. “What’ll it be?”
“Blackmail? Really? That’s a little low for you, isn’t it?”
“I get what I want, Dean. I will have Antonio locked away for the rest of his life. If it means dragging you through shit to do that, so be it,” he muttered.
I shoved him back as I released his shirt. The motion caused the men in the doorway to shift nervously. With nothing else to consider, and my hand now forced, I steadied my breathing and my voice. “I’ll do it.”
Mark grinned. “Smart man.”
I shook my head at myself and combed my fingers through my hair. There were no happy endings with any of this. I had begun to pace as the other detectives left the room. Meanwhile, Mark watched me. Maybe trying to figure out if I was going to explode again.
I stopped. “Now what?”
“You go back to work and then go home to my daughter and tell her how great your day has been.” He drew a small, gray business card from his shirt pocket and held it towards me. “When Antonio makes contact, call me.”
I took the card and read over it once before looking at him. “He hasn’t made contact for a while. I hope you don’t mind waiting.”
