Chapter 32 #2
The words landed harshly, but he didn’t mean to be hurtful. He was angry about the situation, not at me.
“I didn’t,” I admitted. I traced the rim of my coffee cup with my fingertip.
“Not until everything that’s happened recently.
But the more I think about it, the more it makes sense.
The monastery. Lola. El Privilegio. My father.
That Delgado man you mentioned. They all have to be connected.
” I looked up at him. “It can’t be a coincidence. ”
He nodded.
“I think they’re selling them,” I said quietly. “It has to be that.” I swallowed. “But I don’t have proof. Not really. Only what you already know.”
Lucian tapped a finger on the table.
“I think you do have proof, Scarlett,” he said. “Those documents you stole. Where are they?”
My fingers tightened around the cup.
“I was afraid they’d be taken from me,” I explained.
“So I hid them. I never went back for them.” I exhaled slowly.
“Just because I managed to rent a small apartment and scrape together some kind of independence didn’t mean I wasn’t being watched.
Lola and the club owners kept me on a short leash. They always knew where I was.”
Lucian’s jaw flexed, but he remained silent.
“And even as terrible as my life has been these past eighteen months,” I continued, “it was still better than the convent.” I lifted my chin. “I would rather sell my body than go back under that roof.”
He didn’t flinch at my bluntness.
“You’ll never have to worry about that again,” he said. “I’ve got you, Scarlett.” He leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees. “I know this conversation isn’t easy. You’re brave for sharing it. There isn’t a detail too small for me to hear. And I want those documents.”
His gaze held mine.
“So after we eat,” he continued, “we’re going to go get them.”
A quiet strength settled into my chest.
“I’m not afraid anymore,” I said. “Not like I was.” I reached for my napkin, folding it carefully between my fingers.
“You believed me. You never once questioned whether I was exaggerating or hiding something. For the first time, I have hope. Not just for myself, but for the girls who are still trapped in whatever unholy scheme is running through that place.”
Lucian’s expression darkened slightly.
“Scarlett,” he said, the furrow between his eyes deepening. “There’s something I need to tell you. And I’m not going to pretend it’s easy.”
My heart started pounding in my chest. His expression told me that he was about to drop a bombshell.
If he was worried about how I would react after everything he’d already learned about me, then whatever he was about to say was going to hurt.
“What is it?” I asked, pushing my plate away. “Just say it. I can’t stand being kept in the dark. I hate secrets.”
He stood and gathered the empty plates, stacking them neatly on the tray the hotel had provided. He poured the last of the coffee into his cup and carried everything to the sideboard near the door. When he returned, he didn’t sit back down.
Instead, he moved my chair back gently and lowered himself to one knee in front of me.
His hands wrapped around mine.
“Scar,” he said quietly, “your father is alive.”
The words struck like a blow.
A gasp tore from my throat.
“My father is alive?”
I pulled my hands from his and stood so quickly that the chair legs scraped against the tile. For a second, the room tilted.
Alive!
I folded my arms across my chest and looked down at Lucian, who was still on one knee in front of me, completely naked and entirely unbothered by it, while my life was exploding.
“Explain,” I said.
He rose slowly. “The bullet went through his chest,” he began, voice calm in that way that meant he’d already processed it. “Missed the heart. Missed the lungs. Tore through muscle and nothing more. He’ll heal.”
I clenched my hands to keep them from shaking.
“He’s not only alive,” Lucian continued, “he’s turned his hospital suite into campaign headquarters. He’s got cameras in his face, taking press conferences from his bed. He’s using it.”
“Using it how?”
“To paint himself a martyr.” His jaw hardened. “He’s been all over the news. He knows my name, and there’s a warrant out for my arrest. They’re tying me to organized crime, pushing for a RICO investigation.”
My stomach knotted.
“Nik’s working on it,” he went on, “but your father has lit a media circus. He’s laying blame at the feet of every mafia family in New York.”
I absorbed that in silence.
He was alive.
He was thriving.
He was exploiting it.
A strange calm settled over me.
“Maybe you won’t miss his heart next time,” I said evenly. “Get dressed. Let’s go.”
Lucian’s brows lifted slightly.
“It’s time to take down those motherfuckers at the monastery,” I continued. “And maybe pay Lola a visit too. There are a few things I’d like to say to that woman.”
A slow smile spread across his face.
He rose to his feet and framed my face in his hands. “Now that’s my girl,” he murmured. “The one I met at Our Lady on Christmas night.”
He pressed a firm kiss to my forehead.
“Let’s get those documents. We’ll decide what comes next after that.” He paused, then added, almost casually, “And Scar? Lola’s been handled.”
My eyes dropped to his hands, to the skin across his knuckles.
And understanding dawned.
“Oh.”
He flexed his fingers once and smirked, dark satisfaction threading through his expression. Then he crossed the room and began to dress.
I turned toward the bags that had been delivered the day before and rummaged through them. “I appreciate all of this,” I muttered, lifting a silk blouse I had no interest in wearing, “but what I wouldn’t give for a pair of jeans.”
Lucian chuckled as he stepped into his trousers. He picked up one of his guns and moved toward the door, checking the peephole before unlocking it.
Two shopping bags sat neatly outside.
He retrieved them and brought them in.
“Your wish is my command, my queen,” he said lightly.
I tore into the bags and nearly laughed out loud. Jeans, a soft, gray sweater, and a pair of cotton panties.
“Finally,” I breathed.
I dressed quickly, grateful for denim and something that felt like me instead of someone curated for display. By the time I finished, Lucian had buttoned his shirt and secured his holster beneath his jacket.
He offered me his hand.
Moments later, we were out the door and heading toward the car that waited for us, the weight of the morning settling in.