After he finishes, she weakly tries to dart around him but Dante grabs her by her throat before she can get away, throwing her toward the mattress with all of his strength.
With a thud, she lands and grunts. She then maneuvers as if she’s going to try and run again, but he points his knife in her direction mockingly so.
“Rough nap?” he asks smugly.
She swallows and seems to try and clear her throat before speaking. “Let me guess, you’re both here just to make yourselves feel big again?”
Dante smiles behind the mask. I don’t need to see it to know it’s there. “We’re here to talk this time,” he says.
She laughs, and then coughs like she is still clearing water from her lungs. “I already told you everything.”
“That’s not true,” Dante replies. “You told us nothing.”
He leans forward, resting his forearms on the back of the chair. “Playing innocent, you did just fine at. But you keep skating around the one detail that actually matters.”
Her eyes narrow. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I stay near the door, arms folded across my chest.
Dante glances at me briefly, then back to her. “See, that right there,” he replies. “That’s the problem. You’re lying like someone who thinks she’s smarter than us.”
Her gaze slides back to me again. Like she expects me to do something, to help her. I’m not sure why she has such high expectations.
“The picture.” She continues, “I was giving my father money, yes.”
Dante moves his hand in a circular motion, telling her to continue.
“But it was just money for the annual fundraiser he holds for the children’s hospital of New York City.”
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
He shifts in the chair, sitting up a little straighter as his tone hardens. “Your father, the same man who drove upmedical costs for profit, is suddenly some kind of benefactor?”
I stand still by the door, muscles tense.
Dante leans back slightly, letting the silence stretch just long enough to make her uncomfortable. And she is definitely that with how she fidgets with her dry skin on her finger nails.
“Fundraiser, huh?” He says. “So let me make sure I’ve got this right. You gave that money to your father, the one you act like is some kind of savior, and you didn’t stop to wonder why the charity funds came in cash instead of a check?”
She swallows, clearly fighting to maintain the image she wants him to see. “That’s not…” Her voice cracks just slightly at the end. I notice, and so does Dante.
“What happened?” he scoffs. He leans forward, placing his chin on the back of the chair, eyes boring into hers. “Let me help you with your charade.”
He says the next few lines as if he is her, but in his own tone. “You’re right, Mr. Kidnapper. I’m either too ignorant for my own good, or I’m a liar just like my daddy.”
Her jaw shudders. “I’m not lying. I-”
Dante cuts her off, raising a finger like a teacher scolding a student. “Oh, no, no, no. You are lying. Every word you’ve said has been carefully constructed to keep me from seeing the truth. And we both know there’s a differencebetween telling the truth and spinning a story to save your little moral compass.”
Her eyes water slightly.
“Tell me,” he continues, “How much has he stolen from others? Don’t bother spinning some saint story this time. Just give me a number.”
Her wide eyes dart to mine and then back to his.
Dante points the blade in her direction again. “Or better yet, let’s make this simpler. Every lie you tell me, every hesitation you make, has a cost. That sounds like a fun game, doesn’t it?”
Her breathing hitches, and I notice the way she shifts back against the wall, trying to create distance between her and the threat.
