Plus, I don’t think Rafaelle’s giving me much of a choice when it comes to finding out the truth. For some reason, I believe he knows exactly who my father is. So, I do as he says and finish my food, anticipation and dread crawling through my chest.
“Ready to find out your birth secret, siren?” he asks once I’m done.
I look up at him, my eyes roaming over his face like I could delve into the dark alleys of his mind.
“Telling me this doesn’t change anything. I still hate you for kidnapping me,” I feel the need to mention.
He rolls his eyes, “Like I keep saying, I didn’t mean to kidnap you. If I had found you any other way, I probably would have approached you and tried to have a civilized conversation.”
Why does he keep saying civilized conversation like he’s anything but a brute?
“I still would have tried to run away,” I state. “The kidnap aside, you’re still the same man who cut off my friends’ fingers and burned down my former place of work.”
A muscle ticks in his jaw, “Touche. Now get up.”
He rises to his feet and stands above me, offering a hand to help me up. I stare at the hand offered, my heart doing awkward palpitations in my chest. Self-preservation has me slapping it away, instead using the bed at my side to rise to my feet. I don’t miss his amused smile.
My gaze goes down to the containers remaining from my meal, wondering where I could dispose of it.
“Someone will take care of it,” he assures me, following my gaze.
“Where are we going?” I ask warily.
“You’ve been cooped up in here for a day, Liliana. You need fresh air, come on. You asked for a tour of my house once, remember. I’ll give it to you now.”
The worst part about Rafaelle isn’t the knowledge that he’s a monster that cuts peoples’ fingers off. The worst part ismoments like this when he acts kind. It confuses me, makes me forget who the enemy is for a second. Makes me believe he could even be human.
“Stop reminiscing about that night,” I scowl.
Putting me in this bedroom, bringing me the same food order.
It’s too much.
His eyes flick to mine, “Why? Cause you regret it?”
No.The word is right on the tip of my tongue but I don’t say it. He would get the wrong idea. I don’t regret it because that night gave me my beautiful daughter and added meaning to my life.
But Rafaelle absolutely doesn’t need to know that.
In the end I don’t reply, moving past him towards the door. I really do need to get out of this room. I can feel the walls closing in with each second that passes.
I flinch slightly when I put some weight on my leg, forgetting for a second that I got injured. Rafaelle’s expression darkens when he notices.
“You weren’t supposed to get hurt, Liliana.” The low words stroke the side of my neck and an ember of heat stirs to life in my belly.
“Can you just get on with the story you have to tell me?” I ask, my throat dry as I inch away from him.
He walks out of the room and I follow, taking in space that isn’t the four walls of the bedroom for the first time in thirty six hours. Rafaelle seems to understand that I need to go outside because that’s where he leads me. To the back of the house. There’s a garden there, flowers and vines grow unrestrained. It’s beautiful, and there’s a bench smack dab in the middle of it.
The moon hangs in the sky, it’s low light washing over us.
We take a seat, me trying to get as far away as I possibly can on the small bench. I don’t like what proximity to him does to my senses.
“Who’s my father, Rafaelle?” I ask impatiently.
“His name is Ignacio Navarro. He’s a Mexican drug lord in his late fifties. Probably the most powerful drug lord in the city. He came down here from Mexico with nothing but the clothes on his back, but he’s worked hard most of his life to change that. Now he has hundreds of men beneath him whom he commands and a shit ton of wealth as well. He controls most of the drug supply in the city. If you want to work in the underworld in Jersey, you either go through my family, or you go through Navarro.”
I’m silent throughout the explanation up until the end. The revelation doesn’t surprise me, my pulse stays the same and there’s no painful clenching in my heart. I always knew what kind of man my father would be. Those aren’t the answers I want and that’s not the story I want to hear.
