She was being sent back with a man that had power, money, and enough influence to bury the truth once already. She might be above eighteen, but that doesn’t erase what he is to her.
A monster.
Or what he’s done.
Assault.
I blink and force the next few words out. “What happens to her deadbeat father?”
Dante shrugs. “Not my problem or yours. She’s an adult.”
He walks around me and opens the door all the way.
“Once she’s released, what happens is her choice.” He pauses. “Funnily enough, one of Armani’s conditions for telling us the money’s location was that she had to be returned directly to him following his confession.”
An uneasy laugh slips out of me. “You can’t be serious.”
He crosses his arms, unbothered. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
I shake my head in disbelief.
“You’re handing her back to him, after everything she just told you.”
Dante doesn’t flinch. “We’re handing her back to her parent.”
“That’s not a parent,” I snap, heat finally breaking through. “That’s a fucking predator.”
His eyes narrow, but his tone stays calm. “Careful.”
I laugh bitterly under my breath. “Careful of what? Offending him? Or offending you?”
“He always wins,” she says softly. “That’s how it’s always worked.”
Dante exhales through his nose. “This isn’t a moral debate. We got what we came for. The job’s done.”
“At her expense,” I shoot back.
He takes a step toward me, lowering his voice. “Don’tpretend this is about justice. You only want to play hero to make up for you not being there to protect your dead girlfriend.”
I do want to protect her. Why is that so wrong?
I drag a hand down my face, pacing a step away before stopping myself. “So that’s it? We just pretend the report doesn’t exist? We forget that any of this happened?”
Dante’s jaw flexes. “The report was only to be used as blackmail because it scared him. That’s all it needed to do. There was no other motive with it.”
I look at her again.
Her fingers are trembling now, just slightly. But she is still mentally checked out as she stares solely at the ground.
“She goes back,” I say slowly, “and he knows he got away with it, again.”
Dante doesn’t respond as I turn back to face him. He stands by the door, still watching me.
His eyes dart to her shaken figure on the mattress before finally speaking. “That’s not our problem.”
“You’re wrong,” I challenge. “It is our problem. Because we’re the ones standing on this information now and choosing to do nothing with it.”
Dante studies me for a long moment before placing his hand on the gun that is holstered against his hip.
