Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
Evelyn
Later. What the hell did "later" even mean? Tomorrow? The day after? Or maybe when my belly got too big to hide, he'd carve out five whole minutes to look at me.
I stared down at myself. Still flat. No sign of anything growing inside. But I felt it—this living thing taking root in my body.
"Hey," I whispered to my stomach. "Looks like your dad's too busy tonight."
My gut answered with a violent cramp. Nausea hit me like a freight train, surging up from my stomach straight to my throat.
Shit.
I launched off the couch and bolted down the hall to the guest bathroom. I grabbed the toilet rim and emptied everything inside me.
Christ.
I hadn't kept down a proper meal in four days. Nothing came up but yellow bile. The acid burned my throat, forcing tears from my eyes. I squeezed them shut, gasping, chest heaving.
"Oh my."
A woman's voice drifted from the doorway. That slow, condescending British drawl.
I didn't need to look to know who it was.
Caroline leaned against the doorframe in a silk robe, arms crossed, looking down at me like I was dirt.
"Darling. You're quite a sight right now."
I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand.
"Caroline." My voice came out raw. "Get the fuck out."
"My, how vulgar." She sighed dramatically. "If Richard were alive, I doubt he'd be proud."
She brought up my father again. I wanted to shove her head in the toilet, but I held back.
Better to leave. This woman was a master at playing victim. Who knew if she'd throw herself on the tile next and scream I tried to kill her.
I forced myself up, grabbed a tissue, wiped my mouth, and pushed past her without a word.
Just as I brushed by, her voice floated after me.
"Are you really going to have your father's killer's child?"
My body went rigid. My right foot froze mid-step. I turned slowly, locking eyes with her.
"What did you say?"
Caroline's face twisted into a cruel smile.
"I said," she enunciated each word, "are you going to have that man's baby? The one who killed your father, Evelyn?"
"What the hell are you talking about?" I shot back.
"Victor runs this city's underworld." Caroline straightened, reaching out to touch my stomach. "But somehow he can't find your father—a man with actual standing—for almost a month. This all-powerful man still hasn't found a single useful lead. You really think that makes sense?"
I opened my mouth to argue.
Nothing came out.
Her words hit the doubt I'd been burying deep inside.
Victor had a terrifying intelligence network, eyes everywhere. But about my father? Always the same answer. Still looking.
"One more thing." Caroline watched my face drain of color. "All of New York knows your father's dead. Everyone except you. Victor's keeping you prisoner in this manor, cutting off all your information. You actually think he's doing this to protect you?"
"Shut up." I raised my voice.
Caroline ignored me, stepping closer.
"Don't you want to know why Victor invited your father here that night?" Her eyes filled with sick pleasure. "Don't you want to know what happened the night your father disappeared? Darling, even I found it horrifying."
"I don't want to know." I glared at her. "I know you're lying. You and Victor have been divorced for over a decade. You came back to New York to destroy his reputation. You think I'd believe your bullshit?"
Caroline looked at me with pity. "That black book—it holds evidence of Victor's financial crimes. If that got out, even a Don like Victor would be in serious trouble." She paused, savoring my wavering state.
"Victor invited your father that night—" Caroline's voice went cold. "Not for any political negotiation. He wanted him silenced."
"You're lying." But my voice shook. I couldn't even convince myself.
"I'm lying?" Caroline nodded, her smile brightening. "Fine, darling. Since you're so stubborn, go verify it yourself."
She reached into her robe pocket and pulled out a folded yellow note, holding it out.
"Victor's private computer. Master password."
She stuffed the note between my stiff fingers and walked out.
I stood alone in the bathroom, clutching that thin piece of paper. The edges weren't sharp, but they cut into my palm anyway.
My brain screamed at me. Trust Victor. Rip this up and flush it. But my feet were already moving before my mind could stop them.
The study was pitch black except for moonlight streaming through the windows, casting pale shadows on the floor.
I lifted the screen of the black laptop on his desk. It glowed to life. Blue light hit my face, stinging my eyes. A white password box appeared in the center.
My fingers trembled as I typed it in.
Caroline's password worked.
The moment it opened, a photo appeared.
I can't describe what I saw. My brain shut down the part that processes images. I didn't feel sick. Didn't feel fear. Just numb.
The photo showed a dark dock. Black dried blood and filth covered the ground. A body—barely recognizable as human—dumped in the corner.
On the corpse's wrist was a distinctive birthmark. The same one on the inside of my father's wrist.
That was my father.