Page 56 of Mafia Scars

I’d danced around the corridors of this house, every single one.

Crashing into things when I was little, breaking stuff.

Over there by the corner was where I used to do my stretches. Mom would help me.

Beyond that was the kitchen and the back stairs that led to my room.

“Are you okay?” Luc asked.

“No, I’m not, Luc. What am I supposed to say to him?”

“Do what your heart tells you.” His handsome face lit up into a smile. “I’ll wait in the living room. I’ll come running if you need me.”

“You promise?”

“Always, goddess.”

He kissed me, then made his way into the living room.

I pulled in a very deep breath, attempting to clear my mind. It sort of did.

When I walked up to Dad’s office door which was slightly ajar, I could see him sitting behind the desk. His head was bent low over some documents.

His hair was a mixture of black and gray.

Ten years.Over ten years.

He was sixty-five now.

Another breath gave me the energy to knock on the door. It was just a small tap, which actually held the air of nerves I used to feel when I came into his office. I knew not to disturb him when he was inside. Sometimes I had to, mostly when I wanted extra money for the mall or needed new dance gear.

Sweat dripped from my hands.

“Come in.” He called out, stopping what he was doing and lifting his head.

When I pushed the door fully, he saw me, and his cheeks colored.

I stood there, frozen like an ice sculpture. Frozen in time, unable to will my legs to move.

He had the side door open that led out onto the terrace. The breeze wafted in from there and lifted the ends of my ponytail.

I gazed at him.

His face was thinner and not as vibrant as it had looked when I last saw him. He looked thin too. Still held that strong sense of authority, but I could tell he was sick.

It seemed that he tried to mask it, probably too by being down here instead of in bed.

My mind conjured up the last time, and all the circumstances surrounding that.

He rose and stood on shaky legs, which were thin too. I’d never seen him look so frail.

I opened my mouth to speak, deciding I’d be strong. After all, I came here for a reason. One of them was to see him again before he died. The other was to hear the truth.

Safety too. Like a rat I’d scrambled back home for protection.

No words came from my mouth. Everything jammed in my mind. That confliction came back, washing over me.

Agent Peterson. Mom. The lies.