Page 8 of Beauty and the Daddy

He was the one who told my dad to quit stalling.

"Dad?" I asked again.

"I promised him my most valuable asset."

"No," I'd said, laughing because surely this was a joke. A really bad, tasteless joke. "You're kidding, right? Dad? Tell me you're kidding."

But Dad just looked at the floor.

And Moretti... God, Moretti just kept staring at me like I was his latest conquest.

A part of me remembered how, once upon a time, I'd longed to be looked at like that, by a man just like him.

Maybe that's why I didn't totally black out.

If I had to be traded like a damn poker chip, at least the guy collecting me looked like he walked off a movie set.

Lucky me, right?

Well, I tried to look on the bright side while Dad laid out the ugly truth of how bad things had really gotten.

He'd sold off every investment we had just to keep the company breathing. There was even a point where he thought about selling the whole thing… but the buyers wanted to clean house.

"What about their families, Belle?" Dad had asked, and their faces went running through my head.

My rage faltered, folding in on itself. How hadn't I seen it?

The sleepless nights, the nervous phone calls, the way he'd aged ten years in one.

If I'd paid attention and stopped being wrapped up in my own little world, maybe I could have helped before it came to this.

He screwed up. He soldme. Sure.

But those people on the factory floor, the ones who had trusted us with their livelihoods? They weren't just employees.

They were family too.

So, there I was, caught between hating my father, grieving for him, and feeling like it was my responsibility to carry the pieces he'd left shattered.

And looking at Luca Moretti, with his expensive ego and his taste for pretty things, I was pretty sure he would have preferred the cash back.

Instead, the Beast of New York was stuck with me, just as I was stuck with him.

I get off the floor and think back to what Luca said, just before the guards showed me to my room.

"I'm not a monster, Belle. I don't hurt women. Ever."

I must have looked more shaken than I thought, because then he asked if there was anything I needed.

"Meatball," I'd somehow found the strength to say.

"Meatball?" His lips twitched, and for one insane second, I noticed how ridiculously full they were. Dangerous men weren't supposed to have lips like that.

"My cat," I snapped, glaring like that could erase the way my pulse stuttered.

"I've got a dog," he said, smiling just enough to knock the air out of me. A kind, lethal smile, like a real-life John Wick. "Hope they get along."

"So, I can have Meatball here?" My heart raced at how easy that was.