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I look down sadly, cradling my heart in the dank emptiness of the room.

“Somehow, with that luck of yours at the poker table, I don’t think you’ll be needing Daddy’s money.”

22

DANTE

Moneybags is hating on me like her life depends on it. Especially when I mention her father and money in the same breath. She has spilled her guts to me, answering every one of my questions, no doubt betting on me over the Savages as the safer option. I still can’t figure out what she has done to them to get them so riled up, but then again, I hadn’t been at the club any of the other nights she’d been there, so there is no telling what sort of trouble she has gotten herself into. And when I ask her, Moneybags has been nothing if not tight lipped, insisting the night we’d met was the first contact she’d had with the motorcycle gang. I’m not entirely sure if I believe her, but we have more pressing issues to deal with at the moment.

“So tell me,” she says, moving forward in her seat, getting ready to make a deal. “How much do you want to open that door and let me out of here?”

I can’t help but laugh. The woman has such silly, misguided perceptions of what is going on here. If only this operation were as simple as money exchanging hands.

“What makes you think…”

“Dante.”

It is one word, one breath, but when spoken, it tells me to drop everything and address my father, who is standing at the door to the cell. He wears a dark grey suit and has his hands in his pockets, an imposing man that gives me insight into what I will look like in 25 years or so.

I shoot Moneybags a quick look and find her sitting with a confused look on her face.

“I wasn’t expecting you today,” I say, as I follow my father down the narrow hall away from the cell.

“I thought I’d come by and check up on things, since I haven’t heard from you.” My father scrapes a finger against a wall and lifts it to his eyes. “There’s too much dust down here; it’s not right for the girl to be living in such conditions.”

“She’s a prisoner,” I remind him.

“She’s a guest.”

We enter the room I’ve had converted into an office and stand on opposite sides of the large industrial style desk. My father turns and walks toward the window, his silence enveloping the room like a shroud. When the quiet becomes too overbearing, I am the first to speak.

“You were right – she’s his daughter.”

A wistful smile crests the corners of my father’s lips, before he turns away from the glaring light cascading through the windows and faces me. A halo of light gives off the impression that he’s angelic. When I know that he’s anythingbut.

“That doesn’t surprise me.”

“That she’s a girl or that he took extreme measures to keep her hidden?”

“A little bit of both. Although, knowing Maddog as I do, I know he’d do anything to protect those he loved.”

“What do we do with her now?”

“Keep her on ice. Let her suffer with us a little longer. If I calculate correctly, eventually she’ll break and offer you anything you want to be let out of her prison.”

“She’s already offering me money,” I scoff.

“You haven’t told her what we’re after, have you?”

“No. Was I meant to?”

“Hell, no. Keep her guessing. But I don’t want her coming to any harm.”

“You seem mighty intent on keeping your captive safe,” I muse, wondering why my father is so invested in protecting the girl. Sure, she has something he wants, but this seems like so much more than that.

“You know the rules, Dante. Women and children. They’re off limits.”

“So are priests,” I retort, before turning to walk away.