“It’s our only lead for Richard,” Jaxon says.
“But what’s all this have to do with what was behind the vault?” I ask. “Wasn’t it just money?”
“Yeah, but what kind of money? Dirty money? Bribe money? What if the money is linked to your father? Didn’t you say you slept with Richard’s daughter and that’s why he hates you? What if this is all linked back to you?”
“I have slept with a lot of people, but I am telling you, I didn’t know a mafia boss or his daughter.” I rub my temples and run through all the women I’ve been with. “Do you have a picture of Richard’s daughter?”
Sebastian clears his throat and becomes awkward. Everyone shares a glance, and my hackles rise. “What?”
“So, we got her name wrong before when we asked you if you slept with his daughter in college.” Sebastian slides his phone toward me, and I pick it up to get a closer look.
I lay a hand over my mouth and stare in disbelief at the image in front of me. “This can’t be right. That’s impossible. This can’t be happening. This can’t be right.”
“It’s possible if Heather’s parents met right after,” Sebastian informs me.
I stare at the senior picture of Grace staring directly into the camera. Her smile is big and bright, her eyes are shining with life, and she looks happy. This isn’t the daughter of a mafia boss.
“I never had sex with Grace. We kissed, but we decided we were better off as friends. How do you know this is his daughter? What makes you so sure?”
“There are deposits to Grace’s mom, Heather’s mom, and I don’t know if it was hush money or what, but her mom put it into an account for Grace. The money has stopped. It stopped when Grace died.”
I sway when the information crashes down on me and Owen grabs me before I tip over and sets me in the chair. “You okay?” he asks. “Do you need some water?”
“No, I…uh…I’m wondering how one of my only friends growing up became a victim of her father’s rage. A father I bet she didn’t even know about.” The damn emotions tickle my eyes again, and I cover my face with my hands to hide. “Her being my friend killed her, didn’t it? Because of my father. He is involved in this
fucking mess somehow, isn’t he?”
“It looks like he is in the middle, yes,” Sebastian confirms.
Eleven
Heather
I don’t want to go to the ball. Nothing about this sounds appealing to me. Nothing about this life is appealing. We live in a bigger house, the kind of house my parents like to avoid because they believed the bigger the house, the more rooms that had to be cleaned. We don’t have to worry about that now, do we? We have a cleaning staff, butlers, drivers, and stylists.
What happened while I was away? My parents suddenly stopped their morals and beliefs? For what? A home we can get lost in? I can guarantee I’m not going to explore half of this mansion. I’m disappointed and I shouldn’t be. My parents have worked hard for this kind of life. My dad has a successful chain of restaurants that made millions, what happened to those? I guess this is something I’ll never understand.
I glance around my new bedroom and it’s bigger than our old living room, kitchen, and dining room combined. There are snow white beams connecting to the floor and ceiling. My bed is sitting in the middle of the room. A four-post canopy bed with a lilac canopy covering it and a down feather comforter.
Next there is a vanity in the corner, nearly taking up the entire wall, and the mirror shows every angle, which is a girl’s worst nightmare. Combs, makeup, and perfumes galore. It’s overwhelming. I was taught we didn’t need this stuff, but now, it’s what my life revolves around. I walk toward the window, the only window in the room because apparently my parents think someone is going to climb the side of the house and break in to take me.
If they had it their way, I bet I wouldn’t have windows at all so I can be safe in a cave. It isn’t a way to live.
I don’t think this window opens now that I’m really looking at it. I run my fingers along the edges, seeking knobs, locks, or whatever else that can be considered an unlocking mechanism. My fingers rub along something circular and hard, metal maybe. I tug the curtain back so I can get a better view and notice that they are nails.
My window is nailed shut.
I lean my forehead against the cool glass and tap my fingers against it. I was kidnapped and taken prisoner, but did I leave one cell for another? Granted, one had ill intentions and I know my parents want what is best for me because they are worried, but I want to have a normal life again. I don’t want to feel trapped.
“Ms. Thomas?” a woman with short cropped blonde hair and blue eyes tinged with silver opens the door with a soft knock.
I don’t look away from the window. I stare out onto the gardens— yes, we have gardens now— and wish the sea roared in front of me. I miss the sound of the ocean churning, the seagulls chirping, and even Quinn’s babies crying at the top of their lungs. I miss Asher too, his kindness, the way the room’s energy changed whenever he was in it. I miss how I felt when he was near me. It was like he gave me strength to heal and gain perspective on life. I didn’t feel fear, I wanted to conquer the hurt inflicted upon me and hurt it in return.
I felt strong, capable, and indestructible in the short amount of time I was with him.
Now, I just feel useless.
It’s been an entire month and all I can think about are the chances I didn’t take with him, the what ifs. All I had to do was hold back the truth and I think we would have been okay, but that isn’t fair to him.