Dante’s top lip twitches. “Don’t ever threaten me again, daughter.” He turns his head, scowling at me. Disappointment rains down on me. “You come at me again, Luca, you’ll live to regret it.”
“I already live to regret the fact that you had me.”
I’m not afraid of Dante.
He stalks to the other side of the desk, keeping space between us.
Good.
Then he can’t lay a finger on Harper. I reach out for her, my hand running up and down her arm, making sure she’s all right.
Her breathing has returned to a steady rhythm, but she’s heated and glowering at Dante. “Is this how you treat all your employees?”
“Just the mouthy ones.” Dante smirks as he sits back in his leather chair, pleased with himself.
What I wouldn’t give to wipe that atrocious grin from his face.
“Now, if you’re done acting like a toddler and throwing a temper tantrum, I’d like to get onto more pressing matters.” Dante rests his hands on the leather armrests on his chair, drumming his fingers with impatience. “Your son.”
That’s all it takes for Harper and me to remain still, finally giving Dante our full attention.
“What about my son?” Harper shoots him a scathing look.
The air is thick with anticipation as Dante’s words hang between us. The sound of his fingers tapping against the armrest echoes in the silence, a subtle reminder of his control over the conversation. His control over all of us.
My heart pounds, uncertain of what’s coming next, and I catch Harper’s eye—a fleeting glance that says we’re both bracing ourselves for whatever Dante has to say. His attention lands on me, a flicker of something unfamiliar crosses his features.
“Do you remember when Nova was younger?” Dante asks.
“We grew up together. You’re going to have to be more specific.”
“Do you recall when she was mute?”
Harper inhales sharply. “What are you saying?” She grips the armrest, leaning forward, worry tearing her up inside and out.
“Nova experienced a trauma, much like Zeke did, at a similar age.
She purses her lips together and sighs. “What are you suggesting?” Harper asks. “Do you think we should take him to a therapist? Because anything he says will be reported to the authorities.”
“We used to have a child psychologist on our payroll. I can give her a call, have her come here and work with Zeke on weekends.”
I rest my hand on Harper’s, and she glances at me out the corner of her eye before returning her undivided attention on my father. “Is that what helped Nova?”
My father sighs and rubs his forehead. “Paige actually helped Nova the most, but I do think a therapist working with Zeke could help with the night terrors.”
“I think it’s a good idea,” I say. The therapist idea had crossed my mind, but I’d been concerned it was too risky for all of us. Assuming the therapist is on Dante’s payroll, then perhaps it isn’t a danger at all. Only good can come of it.
“How did Paige help?” Harper asks, seeming hung up on the first part of what he’d mentioned.
“Paige was hired as Nova’s nanny. She spent a lot of time with her, showed Nova that she could trust her.”
“Zeke can trust me,” Harper says and glances toward the closed door.
Dante’s grim expression sullies my mood and is heavy on my stomach. “Zeke watched you shoot a man. I’m not sure you’re the right person for the job.”
“I’m his mother!” Harper stands and paces the small space of the office. She seems lost in her thoughts, her mind racing, but the words not coming out. She pauses at his cabinet where he keeps a lonely cactus and stares at it for a few seconds.
Silence permeates the space, and I refrain from saying anything to dampen the mood further.
