Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 82094 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82094 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
The driver nods and we pull out.
Chapter 19
Brice
“Are you sure Carmine said this was okay?” Angelo stares at me from outside the limo’s window frowning as people walk past like he wants to pat down every stranger that gets within ten feet of me.
“It’s totally fine, don’t worry. I’m just meeting with my dad. You don’t have to wait around.”
Angelo snorts and shakes his head. “Yeah, fucking right, and let Carmine cut out my spine because I left you here alone? Good luck with that. Tell your old man I said what’s up.” He shifts lower in the seat, turns up the radio, and leans his head against the headrest. “Scream really loud if you need me.”
I smile to myself and hurry away. The Hilton’s lobby is a brightly lit and extremely quiet room with lots of leather armchairs, several couches, and the welcome desk straight ahead. The employees are busy helping an older couple and I slip past them easily, walking slowly into the sparse room, and there he is, sitting with a man I don’t recognize in the far corner.
Daddy looks tired. I go to him, smiling tentatively, not sure how to feel. My hands are trembling and a drop of sweat rolls down my back. I should be happy—my father’s out of jail, this should be a good thing—but I can’t stop thinking about what he did to our family. The last time I saw him was the visit at the prison and that did not go well, but this man looks like someone totally different. His hair is cut, his beard is shaved, and he’s wearing his usual expensive but understated clothes. He’s even got a nice tan like he spent an hour at the beach before coming here. Daddy’s almost looking like himself again, but not quite, like there’s still something off about him.
“Sweetie,” he says and I let him pull me into a hug. He smells like he always does, like lotion and aftershave, and I feel myself getting yanked back into my old ways, and already I’m thinking, Daddy can fix all this and Daddy’s here and now I’m safe but it’s Daddy’s fault that I’m in this situation at all. I’m conflicted and more than a little confused but he pulls back, smiling huge, his eyes shining brightly, and he turns to gesture at the man standing a respectful distance away.
“Honey,” Dad says, “this is Stephen Panagos.”
My jaw drops and I try to get away as panic takes over and a scream lodges itself in my throat but I can’t seem to break free. Daddy grips my arm and confusion slips into his expression as I look between the them, my brain melting down. Stephen is an older man in his sixties with dark salt-and-pepper hair, baggy clothes, and a lean face. He has the expression of an undertaker, somehow both morbid and reassuring, and he doesn’t move to come closer like he can tell I’m absolutely freaking out right now.
“What?” I manage to say finally. “Daddy, how, what, why, this is—” I try to pull away, try to run, but Daddy holds on tightly.
“I know this is strange, but please, sweetie, sit down and listen.” He guides me to a chair and I sit woodenly, every fiber of my body telling me to get up and run the hell away. I’m in Philadelphia because this man, this Stephen Panagos tried to kill me in cold blood. Now I’m sitting across from him and he’s smiling at me politely, and my father’s acting like this is totally normal.
It’s not normal. Not remotely normal.
“I understand you’re confused, Ms. Rowe, I truly do,” Stephen Panagos says. “And I can’t blame you. Perhaps I can shed some light on the situation that will make you feel better.”
“You tried to kill me,” I whisper and clasp Dad’s forearm. “Daddy, he tried to kill me. What’s going on?”
“Honey, you’re confused,” Daddy says and looks at Stephen awkwardly. “Do you want to explain?”
“No,” I say, recoiling, but Daddy doesn’t let me go. “I don’t—I can’t—”
“Brice,” Stephen says like he’s talking to a wild animal on the verge of attacking. “What happened back in Dallas is regrettable. That is not how I wanted to handle business between your father and me. The truth is that hit was never meant for you at all, but for your future husband.”
I let that sink in but for some reason my body rebels against it, like my very bones are screaming out liar, liar, liar, liar! I don’t know how Daddy can’t hear my heart hammering against my ribs and I’m afraid I might hyperventilate if I try to speak. They’re watching me and I need to say something but what can I say? Yes, okay, you’re totally not a murdering psychopath, it’s fine you just meant to kill Carmine, not me, ha-ha, cool.