“You did good tonight,” she says, and there’s a note of pride in her voice that makes my chest tighten.
“Youdid good,” I correct. “I think Liza might promote you straight to partner.”
There’s a rustle behind us, a stumble, and then the sharp clink of glass against stone. I turn, pushing Roza behind me. My body reacting without my brain having to tell it what to do.
A man stumbles out of the shrubs next to the hotel curb. “Rosie,” he says, and the word is slurred, thick with liquor. “My baby girl.” Her father’s eyes are bloodshot, his clothes are wrinkled, and he reeks of alcohol. He’s holding a crumpled envelope in his shaking hands.
I curse inwardly. Drew’s not supposed to be here. I set him up with a job in another town and paid for him to go to gambling addiction treatment at a very expensive clinic.
“Dad,” my wife says. Her voice is small, and she clutches my hand hard.
"There she is." He spreads his arms like he's welcoming her home. "My baby girl,” he repeats. “Look at you."
His gaze moves over her dress, her hair, the rings on her finger, and something shifts in his expression. It’s not love or pride. It’s something ugly.
"Trophy wife," he says, and laughs. "I always knew you'd land on your feet, Rosie. Smart girl."
She doesn't move. Doesn't speak, but her breath catches.
"Thing is," he continues, stepping closer, the envelope rustling in his grip, "I'm in a bit of a situation. Nothing major.” He waves his hand and almost loses his balance, stumbling and catching himself just in time. “Just need a little help. Thought maybe you could put in a word with your husband." His eyes slide to me, assessing. "Since you're living so well now. Since you don't have to work no more. Since it's thanks to me you're living the easy life now."
I feel her hand go rigid in mine. "Thanks to you?" she asks quietly.
"I'm just saying." He shrugs, the gesture loose and drunk. "I'm the one who set this up. I'm the reason you've got the fancy apartment, the fancy dress, the fancy?—"
"You sold me," she says.
He blinks. "Rosie?—"
"You told me they were going to kill you." Her voice is calm now, too calm. "You stood in that office and you let me sign a contract where I pledged myself to a stranger.” Her words slice deep into my heart, but she’s not finished. “And now you're standing outside a hotel, drunk, asking me to thank you for it."
He opens his mouth. Closes it. He looks at me like I’m supposed to help him out.
There are many things I want to say to this man, but I stay quiet. This is not my moment. This is hers.
"I sacrificed my life," she says, "because I loved you. Because I was stupid enough to believe you’d hit rock bottom and would finally straighten up.” Tears fall from her pretty eyes. “How could having to sell your daughter to get out of debt not be a wake-up call.” She wipes the moisture from her cheeks. “But you’re so fucking delusional that you’ve rewritten the whole thing into a scene where you’re the hero. Where you did me a favor.” She’s shouting now.
"I didn't mean…"
"Go home," she says, her voice cold and flat. "Sober up. And never bother me again."
She turns away from him, chin up, eyes forward, and walks to the car. The driver opens the door. She gets in without looking back.
I look at her father. He's staring after her, the envelope hanging limp in his hand. The bluster has left him.
"That’s the last time you make her cry," I say quietly.
He swivels to face me, points a finger in my face. “I know a lot of details about the brotherhood,” he says. “If you don’t help me out, I can make things very difficult for you.”
I grab his finger and step so that my body shields his from the car window. My other hand covers his mouth as I bend the finger backward.
Drew’s body convulses with pain. I let go, and he crumples to the ground, holding his hand. I lean over as if I’m about to help him up, but I keep him flattened on the concrete curb. “That’s not the way you want to play this,” I say.
He nods frantically. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.”
I leave him on the ground and get in the car, texting one of my men to help Drew leave town and go far enough to where he’ll not bother my wife again. It would be easier to kill him, but that would hurtRoza.
She’s staring out the window, jaw set, eyes bright with tears.
