Chapter 129 130

Chapter 129 130
“I’m an idiot!” I shriek. “What the hell is wrong with me? I’m a stupid, pregnant idiot!”

Ubert’s face drops. “It’s not a problem, miss.” He rushes around the kitchen island and kneels down, collecting the pieces. “There’s no need for that.”

I lean down, slide my hand in, grab the phone. It’s as easy as that. I shove it in my back pocket and take a step back, letting out a trembling sigh.

“Will you excuse me? I need to use the restroom.”

“Sure, miss,” he says. “I’ll get this cleaned up and we’ll have that pie.”

I almost feel guilty as I quickly walk across the apartment to the bathroom. I have to remind myself that, even if Ubert is nice, he’s still here to stop me leaving, against my will. I’m still a prisoner. He’s still Carlo’s man.

I close the bathroom door, lock it, and then immediately dial Benjy’s number. I hope he hasn’t changed it since I ran away. I don’t even think about calling Dad, since he’s never listened to me, not once in his whole asshole life. I let out a sigh of relief when the phone actually starts to ring.

But when the ringing stops, it’s not Benjy.

“Hello?” a woman’s voice snaps, sounding angry when I don’t say anything. There’s another pause, then she says, “Is this Colleen?”

“Hazel,” I reply. “And who is this?”

“Cassandra.”

“Okay …” I trail off. I’ve never heard of a Cassandra before. “Is Benjy there?”

She huffs as though I’ve just asked her to kill her own mother and give me the life insurance money. Apparently, asking to speak with my brother is the biggest inconvenience in the world. “Oh, he’s here,” she says after a long pause. “But you can’t speak to him. Do you want to know why? Because that Italian monster you’re shacked up with beat him so badly he’s got internal bleeding. They’ve got him hooked up to machines.”

“Wait,” I say. “He is in intensive care?”

“That’s right!” she hisses.

I massage my forehead, maybe trying to rub some sense into my thoughts. The father of my unborn child—who kidnapped me—has put my criminal brother in the hospital? I think even Jerry Springer would have trouble unpacking this one.

“Shit.”

“Shit’s right,” Cassandra growls. “I’m his girlfriend, by the way. Thanks for asking. And I know all about you, you little runner. Oh, wait. Your father is here. He wants to speak with you. Fergal? Yes, it’s her. Yes. Here you go.”

Suddenly, I’m cold. Not cold like somebody just walked over my grave. Cold like somebody just dug it up and put it in an industrial freezer. My hand is on my belly as if to protect my child from him. I want to hang up, but I find I can’t. I’m frozen.

“Colleen?” Father’s deep, growling voice crackles in my ear. I feel like throwing the phone across the room. “Are you there?”

“Yes,” I whisper.

“Speak up, girl!”

“I’m here.”

“Good.” He sighs, sounding almost relieved. It makes me feel sick. “Good, I’m glad. I’ve been worried about you, running off like that. What were you thinking, girl? Didn’t I teach you better than that? You know there are bad men in this city, men who want to hurt you.”

Like you, I want to say. But for some reason, I don’t.

It’s worse when Dad is like this, almost nice. But he’s crazy, and it’s only a matter of time before he flips. I have to remember that. They’ve never been diagnosed, but both Dad and Benjy have some sort of mental illness. I’m sure of it.

“Colleen?” he grunts. “Are you still there?”

“Yes,” I say.

“I want you to know something, sweet. I’m sorry for the way I treated you growing up. I think I was just scared, y’know, because I loved your mother so much and the thought of losing you, oh God, just thinking about it tears me up. You didn’t deserve what I did to you. But it was always to trying make you into the sort of woman who would be safe. I just wanted to keep you safe. I love you.” A pause. I fight the urge to cry. He’s lying, but family’s family, and no matter what the pull to believe him is strong. But then he says, “Where are you, sweet? Where have they got my precious daughter?”

Of course. This is what he wants.

“Did you attack me at the rec center?”

“Colleen—”

“Did. You. Attack. Me. At. The. Rec. Center?”

“I never should’ve tried to marry you to that awful cartel bastard,” he says, but I can hear a tremble in his voice. “That was wrong of me, so wrong. You deserved so much better.”

I’m on my feet, gripping the edge of the mirror. I’m wide-eyed, my cheeks flaming red, spit clinging to my lips. I look how I feel. Livid. “I’m in love with him,” I say. Because I know it will hurt Dad. But also because, maybe it’s true. “Carlo loves me, too. He’s the best man I’ve ever met.”

There’s a long, long pause. I won’t let myself speak first. Let my words have their effect on him.

Finally, he lets out a sigh. “I wish you were never born,” he says matter-of-factly. Somehow, that’s worse. Like he’s describing the weather. “And yes, my men were at the rec center for you. We saw you scurry away like a rat.”

He draws in a slow, rattling breath and continues. “Do you want to know something? The day after you killed your mother, I visited you in the hospital. But not to say hello, or whatever other fathers do with their newborn daughters. No. See, I had this plan. I was going to clamp my hand over your mouth and pinch your nose until you stopped squirming. But there was this social services bitch sniffing around, and by the time I could’ve gotten away with it, Benny’d taken a liking to you for some reason.”

My jaw is hanging open, but no words are coming out.

“I needed Benny focused, so I let you live. You know how sensitive that boy can be sometimes.”

“He’s killed children,” I whisper, remembering what Carlo said. I’m blinking back tears.

“What does that have to do with anything?” Dad says in amazement. “If what you’ve said to me is true—if you’re in love with this Italian fuck—I’m going to have to torture you before I kill you. On principle. You understand, of course. An example must be made.”

What does that have to do with anything? I can’t blink the tears back anymore. There are too many. I feel weak. I wish I could hit something.

“And you better hope he hasn’t got a baby in you. Because, if he has, I’ll get rid of it myself, Colleen. I won’t have no half breed for a grandchild.”

I wipe the tears from my cheeks and straighten my shoulders. I tell myself I’m strong. And then I say what I’ve never said to my father, what I’ve always dreamed of saying: “I want you to know that I hate you. It would be better for the world if you were dead. You would not be missed. Not even by your own daughter.”

I hang up and slump on the toilet seat. Grabbing some tissue paper, I wipe my face clean. I wipe until my cheeks are stinging and dry and then order myself not to shed another tear for that asshole. He’s a monster who doesn’t deserve it. I’m still reeling from the news about Benjy. And, like, how when I told Dad I loved Carlo, it felt true, really true. It’s all too confusing.