“Maybe.”
She glances at me but doesn’t answer. After a minute, she looks away again. I run my hand gently up her arm and to her shoulder. When she still doesn’t look at me, I take her chin with my fingers and turn her to face me.
“Who?” I ask again.
“My father.”
I flinch slightly. The information shouldn’t surprise me as much as it does. I’ve never been a parent—I’ve never even had a real parental bond as a child—and I don’t know what the relationship is like. I’ve seen it though. Even Rinaldo wouldn’t compromise his bastard son in such a way.
“Why?” I ask through clenched teeth. I can make guesses, but that’s all they would be.
“He was a compulsive gambler and owed someone a lot of money. He figured out he could use me to get it.”
“Where was your mom?”
“She left when I was seven,” Alina says. “She was drunk or strung out most of the time. She and my dad would yell and scream a lot. One day, she just wasn’t around anymore. I don’t really remember much about her.”
“You never saw her again?”
Alina shakes her h
ead.
I consider this information. She had a junkie mother and a father with major gambling issues. I have a pretty good idea that mom didn’t just leave of her own free will. She’s definitely dead, either of an overdose or possibly by Alina’s father’s hands. Without a protective, caring mother around, there’s no telling what would have come next.
My imagination takes over, and I picture her as a young girl in such a situation. What did the guy do? Put her in the middle of the table along with the cash? Bet her pussy on a pair of kings? Fuck her himself?
I swallow hard and notice that my hands are starting to shake a little. I ball them into fists to stop the quivering, but my jaw is still tight, and my skin feels hot.
I’m going to kill that fucker.
I’ll kill him slowly. I’ll make sure he gets a taste of what he’d dished out first. I know a lot of guys who would be happy to take turns on some rapist father’s asshole while I cut off his fingers knuckle by knuckle. He is going to hurt. A lot.
“What’s his name?” I can barely get the words out.
She stares at me with wide eyes as she tightens her fingers around my hand.
“No,” she says, shaking her head, “I’m not telling you.”
“Why not?”
“Because…” She doesn’t continue and refuses to look at me again.
“Tell me.” I open my fingers and wrap them around her wrist. “Give me his name.”
“I know what you’re thinking.” Alina shakes her head. “No, Evan, please.”
I breathe heavily as I stare at her. Of course she knows what I want to do; it’s quite clear. The asshole needs to die. He deserves it more than most of the people I kill, and I’m not about to just let it drop. I’m about to demand that she answer me when I realize I don’t need her to tell me; I have Jonathan to find out everything I need to know. I nod at her and look down, hiding my resolve to take care of this guy without her knowledge.
“Evan, please,” she says again. Apparently, she’s not convinced that I will let this drop, and she’s right. “It’s all behind me now, and I want it left that way.”
“Is it?” I look her up and down and release her wrist. “You seem to still be fucking for someone else’s money.”
“I’ve got a good pimp now. He takes care of us.”
“I bet he does.” I can’t contain the sarcasm. I’ve known too many pimps too well.
“He really does.” She slides her fingers up my arm, pressing her thumb into the crook of my elbow for a moment. “He doesn’t keep us strung out, gives us a fair percentage, and watches over us.”