The Maddest Obsession (Made 2)

Guccio rubbed a fist in his hand, shifting his weight to his other foot. “You can wait in the parlor.”

“I’ll wait here.”

He swallowed. “The parlor would be preferable.”

I sent him a look that let him know he was annoying the fuck out of me. He muttered, “Okay,” and drifted away. Standing by the door, I could hear their muffled voices inside.

“You move fast, Gianna,” Saul said. “Didn’t your husband just pass a week ago?”

“A week and a half,” she corrected.

“Don’t get smart with me, girl. Were you trying to make me look like a fool today?”

“I have no idea how I would make you look like a fool.”

“That dress . . . showing up with a man like Allister—it makes you look like a goddamn whore.”

She let out a bitter noise. “I was a whore to you when I was ten years old wearing my pink church dress. That word is a little worn out, Papà. Can’t you think of something a little original?”

“I see your lavish life in New York has spoiled you.” Some papers shuffled. “No matter. I’m sure it’s nothing that can’t be beat out of you. From what I remember, you were always too easy to break. Tell me, are you still afraid of the dark?”

Silence.

He chuckled. “That’s what I thought. We don’t need to discuss such . . . matters right now. Do you think Allister will marry you?”

That amused her. “No. I don’t.”

She sounded so fucking sure it made me want to drag her to the courthouse right now.

“What do you think, Donny?” Saul addressed his right-hand man, who must be in the room.

“I don’t think so, boss.”

“Then I’m sure he won’t care that you’re moving back to Chicago,” said Saul. “Once you’re settled, we’ll talk about arranging a marriage for you. It’s about time you have children, Gianna. You’re almost past your prime.”

“As much as I appreciate the genuine concern in your voice—no. No to moving. No to the marriage. And no to fucking a man of your choosing.”

Good girl.

A hand slapped on a desk. “You have a duty to this family, dammit!”

“Duty?” She scoffed. “What have you ever done for me? You sure as hell didn’t protect your eight-year-old daughter from one of your sick-minded friends!”

Thick silence crept under the door.

I knew at that moment, when he didn’t try to play her accusation off, that he hadn’t known. And it was the only thing that would save his life.

“I clothed you, I fed you—”

“Basically, the bare minimum of keeping someone alive. We get it, Papà—you were an outstanding father.”

“You ungrateful bitch,” he spat.

Her voice shook with emotion. “You know, I feel sorry for you. You were obsessed with Mamma, and she hated you. She hated you so much, she risked running from you again, and again, and again—”

I moved at the sound of a chair slamming against the wall and pushed open the door. My voice was unnaturally calm. “Take your hand off her now.”

Saul held her by the face, his fingers digging into her cheeks. His jaw tightened but he released her, stepped back, and then brushed off his sleeve.