What is happening?
That’s the question running through my head over and over again as I sit motionless in the front passenger seat of Elio’s car. It’s a different vehicle from last night’s black SUV. It’s still black, but it’s smaller, some kind of Porsche I’m pretty sure.
What is happening? What is happening to me?
The place between my legs still feels achy and damp as I squeeze my thighs together. Elio, the arrogant violent stupid fucking bastard, almost made me come. Just from touching my nipples.
What is happening to me?
I shouldn’t like his touch on me. No, I don’t like it. But something in my body reacts to him in a way I can’t control. And the shame of it makes everything burn hotter. Makes every touch into something toxic, nearly drugging, something I’m terrified I’ll start to crave if I’m not careful.
But how the hell can I even be careful? Everywhere I go, there Elio is. He houses me. Even fucking dresses me now. My fingers rise to the diamond collar at my neck, a beautiful and terrible symbol of what’s become of me.
“Why are you bringing me to this event?” I ask, tracing the intricate lines of diamonds that lead into one huge one at the centre. I’ve got to be wearing tens of thousands worth of dollars of gems right now. Maybe even more.
I don’t expect him to answer, but he actually does.
“It’s the most public and efficient way to show the other people who want you that you’re mine.”
The other people who want me. I guess he means Darragh and the Camorra.
I let my hand fall away from the collar and rub my temples.
“Do you know where my father is?” I ask dully. Once again, I don’t expect him to reply.
And once again, he surprises me.
“Bermuda.”
I whip my head towards Elio, a dizzying array of emotions flying through me. The first is relief that my father is alive and he’s escaped.
The second is despair.
Because he really has left me here.
Maybe he’s just hatching a plan, I tell myself, chewing on my lip. Maybe he can’t figure out how to help me here with so many people after him, so he left to figure out his next move.
I wonder if Elio can sense the hope inside me. If he can smell it the way a dog smells blood.
“He’s with Bridget. She flew out there this morning.”
Bridget. The name is familiar, though it takes me a second to place it.
“Bridget, like, our cleaning lady? That Bridget?”
She only worked for us for a couple of weeks a few years ago before she was mysteriously replaced. I always wondered what became of her, but she was so young, only a few years older than me, so I figured she’d just gotten a new opportunity or maybe had college to deal with. I remember her being chatty and sweet and extremely pretty. Why would Dad need a maid in Bermuda?
I’m embarrassed that I don’t figure it out until Elio tells me.
“She’s his girlfriend. Or maybe sugar baby is a better term. Has been for years.”
I feel like somebody’s punched me in the stomach. I lean forward, breath practically knocked out of me as it truly sinks in. My father created this entire mess and left me to pick up the pieces without a fucking thought. Clearly, he still has money on hand if he can jet off to tropical islands. And instead of using that money to try to pay his debts and save me, he flew out the woman he’s fucking instead.
How did I not know any of this?
Head spinning, I try to comb through the past few years, wondering if I’ve missed any signs. How dense am I that not only did I not realize what was happening with the money situation, but I didn’t even clue in that Bridget stopped working for us because she became my dad’s girlfriend instead? His expensive little secret?
Turns out Dad had a lot of expensive secrets.
The sense of betrayal goes deeper than just me. I feel like Dad has betrayed Mom, too. Betrayed her memory in the worst possible way. I obviously didn’t expect him to be alone forever after her death, but this? Banging some college-aged girl and protecting her instead of me when shit hit the fan?
This is a nightmare.
A nightmare that Elio just keeps on making more real. Adding more and more details.
“She’s got expensive taste, from what I hear,” Elio says. He speaks casually, as if each word isn’t shattering everything I thought I knew. “She doesn’t work but lives in a fancy condo in Yorkville. Drives a Range Rover. Or, she did. I wouldn’t be surprised if Sev’s men have already seized the vehicle.”
“Please stop,” I whisper. I don’t even know why I bother. My father may be greedy and a coward, but Elio is cruel, and begging him won’t get me anywhere.
“The truth hurts, Songbird,” he replies, proving just how right I am. How cruel he is. What he says may be the truth, but he’s the one wielding it like a knife, digging it right into my heart.
“But what else is it they say?” he continues. “The truth will set you free.”
I stare at his profile, dumfounded.
“Free?” I echo in disbelief. The diamond collar around my neck tingles. I want to rip it off, dangle it in front of his face and ask him, Does this look like free to you?
Neither of us speak for a while. There’s no music on in the car, and the only sound is the bleating of my broken heart in my chest. I watch the lights of downtown Toronto pass the window like fallen stars and wonder how the rest of the world can just keep on turning, just keep on being beautiful, when mine has entirely collapsed.
When we get close to the AGO, Elio finally speaks again. A sudden, casual declaration.
“You can always put a bullet in his head. That’s what I did.”
My hands squeeze into fists in my lap.
“You killed your own father?” I shouldn’t be surprised by that. Elio’s ruthless. It’s what he’s known for.
He laughs, but the sound is dark and brittle.
“Trust me, he deserved it.”
“Trust you?” I respond with my own bitter laugh. The laughter dies in my throat when leather brushes the back of my neck. Elio fists the chain of the beautiful collar beneath my hair.
We’re at the AGO now, and he stops the car. Outside, a young valet jogs through lightly falling snow towards us.
Elio leans in at the same time he tugs the chain, forcing me sideways towards him. He speaks close to my ear, not touching it, but even so a shameful shiver runs through me, zinging in my nipples and my clit, rekindling the earlier arousal.
“You’re going to have to trust me, Songbird.”
His breath is the barest brush of sensation on my skin, but it explodes through me. His leather-bound knuckles rest against the top of my spine, prickling and hard and soft all at once.
“This city is a snake pit. And the only one who can keep you safe here now is me.”