Page 21 of Marrying His Son’s Ex (Forbidden Kings #3)

ALARIC

The man standing in my sitting room has the audacity to suggest my wife should be grateful for being sold like livestock.

“Can you even hear yourself?” I repeat, stepping fully into the room.

Marcus Vale turns toward me, and I see where Kasimira gets her bone structure. But where her face holds strength and defiance, his shows only weakness and desperation.

“Mr. Moretti,” he says, attempting a smile that looks more like a grimace. “Thank you for taking such good care of my daughter.”

“Your daughter?” I walk closer, watching him shrink back. “The daughter you sold to pay your debts?”

“It wasn’t like that?—”

“It was exactly like that.” I stop three feet away from him, close enough that he has to crane his neck to meet my eyes. “You traded your child for money. What would you call it?”

“A business arrangement that benefited everyone involved.”

Kasimira makes a sound like she’s been punched. When I glance at her, tears are streaming down her face.

“Benefited everyone?” I turn back to Marcus, my voice dropping to the tone that makes grown men wet themselves. “Your daughter spent two years being psychologically tortured by a sociopath. How exactly did that benefit her?”

“She’s rich now,” Marcus says, as if that explains everything. “Richer than she ever could have been otherwise.”

“Because the man you sold her to is dead.”

“But she inherited his fortune. Surely that counts for?—”

“For what? For the two years of abuse? For the trauma? For the fact that she tried to kill herself twice while she was with him?”

Kasimira’s sharp intake of breath tells me I’ve revealed more than she wanted him to know. But I don’t care. This pathetic excuse for a father needs to understand what his “business arrangement” cost.

Marcus’s face goes pale. “I didn’t know?—”

“You didn’t want to know. You got your money and walked away.”

“I thought he’d treat her well. He seemed like a gentleman?—”

“He beat her. Raped her. Made her believe she was worthless.” Each word is a bullet aimed at his conscience. “But you got two million dollars, so I suppose that made it worthwhile.”

“I never meant for her to be hurt. I thought?—”

“You thought about yourself. About your debts. About saving your own skin.” I step closer, and he actually backs against the wall. “You never thought about her.”

“Please, Mr. Moretti. I just need help. Two million dollars. It’s nothing to someone with your resources.”

The man is unbelievable. Even after everything I’ve just told him, he’s still asking for money.

“You want two million dollars?”

“Just a loan. I’ll pay it back with interest?—”

“From what? Your gambling winnings?”

His face flushes red. “I’ve learned my lesson. I won’t make the same mistakes?—”

“You’re making them right now.” I glance at Kasimira, who’s watching this exchange with horrified fascination. “You came here to use her again. To exploit the wealth she gained from two years of hell.”

“It’s not like that?—”

“Then leave.”

“Mr. Moretti, please. I’m her father. Surely family means?—”

“You stopped being her family the day you put a price tag on her.”

Marcus turns to Kasimira, desperation making him bold. “Kasi, sweetheart, please. I know I made mistakes, but I’m still your father. You can’t just abandon me.”

“Like you abandoned me?” Her voice is barely a whisper.

“I never abandoned you. I found you a good husband?—”

“You found me a buyer.”

“Dante had money. I thought you’d have a good life?—”

“I thought about killing myself every day for two years.”

The words hit the room like a bomb. Marcus staggers backward, but then his expression shifts to something calculating.

“But you didn’t,” he says. “You survived. And now you’re stronger, richer, and more powerful than you ever could have been. Doesn’t that count for?—”

“Get out.” Kasimira’s voice is deadly quiet.

“Kasi, please?—”

“GET OUT!”

Marcus takes a step toward her, reaching for her arm. “Just listen to me for five minutes. If you’d just?—”

His fingers close around her wrist, and everything goes red.

I cross the room in two strides, grab Marcus by the throat, and slam him against the wall hard enough to rattle the paintings. His feet leave the floor as I lift him up, my fingers digging into his windpipe.

“Don’t. Touch. Her.”

He claws at my hands, his face turning purple. Good.

“Alaric,” Kasimira says softly. “Don’t kill him in the house. It’ll stain the carpet.”

The joke surprises a laugh out of me, but I don’t release my grip. “You’re right. The blood would be hell to clean up.”

Marcus makes a gurgling sound.

“Please,” he gasps when I loosen my hold slightly. “I’m her father?—”

“No. You’re a parasite who sold his daughter to save himself.” I drag him toward the door, his feet barely touching the ground. “And parasites get exterminated.”

Benedetto appears in the hallway as if summoned by telepathy. He takes one look at Marcus and opens the front door without being asked.

“Throw him off the property,” I order, shoving Marcus at him. “And make sure he understands what happens if he comes back.”

“With pleasure, boss.”

I watch through the window as Benedetto marches Marcus to the front gate, their conversation brief and clearly unpleasant. Marcus looks back at the house once, but whatever he sees in Benedetto’s face makes him scurry toward the road like the rat he is.

When I turn back to the sitting room, Kasimira is collapsed in a chair, sobbing like her heart is breaking.

“Hey.” I kneel beside her chair, unsure how to offer comfort. Physical violence, I understand. Emotional devastation is foreign territory.

“Why?” she chokes out between sobs. “Why does he only want to use me?”

“Because he’s weak. And weak people take the easy path, even if it destroys everyone around them.”

“He’s my father. He’s supposed to protect me, not sell me.”

“I know.”

“Two years of hell, and he thinks I should be grateful.” She looks up at me with red-rimmed eyes. “He actually thinks selling me was doing me a favor.”

“Some people are broken in ways that can’t be fixed.”

“I used to think he actually loved me.”

“Kasimira—”

“But he never did, did he? I was just an asset to be liquidated when he needed cash.”

The raw pain in her voice makes my chest tighten. I’ve seen her defiant, furious, and passionate. But this broken vulnerability is new, and it does things to my protective instincts that I’m not ready to examine.

“Look at me,” I say.

She meets my eyes, tears still flowing.

“You’re not an asset. You’re not a commodity. You’re not something to be bought or sold or traded.” I reach out to brush a tear from her cheek. “You’re a person. A brilliant, strong, valuable person who deserves better than the family that failed you.”

“Do I?”

“Yes. And anyone who thinks otherwise can answer to me.”

She leans into my touch, and I pull her against my chest, letting her cry until she has nothing left. Her tears soak through my shirt, but I don’t care. If holding her helps heal even a fraction of the damage her father inflicted, I’ll hold her all night.

“You’re going to be fine,” I murmur against her hair. “I promise. You’re going to be fine.”