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I walk over to where she sits on the barstool. I wipe my hands on a kitchen towel before I tilt up her chin to force her to look me in the eyes. "Your father and I have the same interests in this. Like I told you, I'm keeping you here to protect you."

Her eyes blaze, "Then let me talk to him."

Wordlessly, I hold out my phone to her. She looks at me as if I would pull it back before she quickly snatches it.

"He should be in my recent calls," I know he is. He called me several times today, demanding to talk to Scarlet, no matter how many times I told him that she was doing fine and was at my house, as myguest, while I was working. I promised to have her call him as soon as I got home. Oops, that might have slipped my mind.My bad. Lambert needs to squirm a little. He needs to know who is in charge here. Every time hedemandedto talk to his daughter, I vowed to make him squirm a little bit longer.

Scarlet wasn't exactly asking, either. Like father, like daughter, I chuckle. But she has been through a hell of an ordeal, so I let it slide—at least that's what I tell myself is the reason—and return to dicing the tomatoes, not even pretending not to listen to Scarlet's side of the conversation.

My fingers shakewhen I scroll through Antonio's incoming call list. I still can't believe he just handed it to me. My eyes well with tears when I see the number of times my dad has called. Eleven times in a single day. I can only imagine how out of his mind with worry he must be.

"Antonio! Where—" my father answers before the first ring is even finished.

"Daddy?" My voice breaks.

"Scar? Oh my God, baby, is that you? Are you okay, sweetheart? I'm so, so sorry. Did they hurt you? Oh my God, Scar," he blabbers. His voice is deep and scratchy. I can picture him, too. His grey hair is probably a mess from when he kept running hishands through it. He probably has dark circles under his eyes from rubbing them and not sleeping.

"I'm okay, Daddy. I'm good." From the other side of the kitchen, I hear Antonio scoff, but I ignore him.

My dad sucks in a shaky breath, but his words come out rushed, like he’s afraid if he stops talking, I’ll disappear again. Like, he needs to hear my voice to believe I’m real.

“Baby, I’ve been trying to reach you. I was—am—sick with worry. I thought—” he chokes off, his voice sounding like it’s breaking in a way I have only witnessed once before. My dad has always been the strong one. The one I could rely on. Hearing him this broken hurts my heart.

“I know, Daddy. I know.” I press my free hand to my chest, trying to keep myself together. “I’m so sorry. I couldn’t call. I—I wasn’t allowed to.”

I send a surreptitious glance toward Antonio, who has moved on to slicing onions and garlic. He's not even pretending not to listen. I watch his jaw work. He's always devastatingly handsome to look at, but from his profile? The little crooked Cesar nose, the sunken in cheek, the way his strong hands work the knife he's using… I feel a small flutter go through my stomach.

“I wish I could come get you. Is he treating you right?” My dad's voice brings me back to what I'm doing.

I turn my back on Antonio. I'm not trying to hide my words; I just can't keep staring at him. “I’m… safe. I'm good. The doctor was here. He stitched me—" I break off the moment I realize, too late, what I'm saying. Dad takes in a sharp inhale.

"I want to come get you," he says in a breaking voice. "I need to see my baby girl. I need to see that you are okay."

Okay? I'm not. I'm not even remotely okay. I was kidnapped. Strung up and tortured. Nothing is going to make that okay again. Ever. But I can't tell him that. He's my father. He was so broken up after he found out… after Mom. I can't do that to him again.

I squeeze my eyes shut, fighting the tears, fighting the little girl trapped inside me who cried out for her father every time her mother took the switch to her. I need to be strong. Stronger than I was before. I can't allow my dad to hear my fears or cry my heart out to him. It would break him.

I want to go home. I want to pretend none of this happened. I want to be back in my apartment, at work, or going out drinking with the girls, rolling my eyes at Jo’s latest stock market rant.

But that isn’t my life anymore.

"I'm good, Daddy. I really am. I'm safe and well taken care of. Antonio is fixing me some food right now. I should probably go and help him."

I glance over my shoulder, where Antonio has stopped chopping and is watching me with an inscrutable expression.

"Okay. I'll do whatever I can to get you home, Scarlet, I swear."

"I know, Daddy, I know." A small smile tugs at the corners of my lips.

"I'll call you tomorrow, baby girl. I love you."

"I love you too, Daddy." I manage to keep my voice even, then I hit the red button and disconnect the call. Only then do I allow the big fat tear gathering in my eye to run down my cheek.

"Nobody will hurt you under my watch," Antonio says, holding a tissue under my nose.

But who is going to protect me from you?I wonder, taking the tissue and blowing my nose in a very unladylike way.

"Your father and I have the same goal here. Nobody is going to hurt you, Scarlet," Antonio reassures me again as if I hadn't heard him the first time.