Page 4 of Ruthless King

My dad’s expression sends irrational fear crawling up my spine.

“But what?” I repeat.

“I didn’t want to worry you, but I called Jimmy the other night after I got canned—”

“No, Dad, you didn’t!”

“It was a sure thing. He swore there was no way I’d lose.”

“And let me guess, you lost?”

He nods, heaving out a frustrated breath, and the stench of stale alcohol fills my nostrils.

“You didn’t even have any money to bet.” The total sum in our bank account was a paltry four dollars and twenty-six cents. I knew this because I tried to buy a venti coffee yesterday morning, and my debit card was declined. It was a damned good thing I was getting paid tomorrow. “Where did you get the money from?”

He runs his palm down the back of his neck, his fair skin turning rosy and accentuating the smattering of freckles he’d inherited from his Irish blood. “I told you, Jimmy said it was a sure thing, so I took out a small loan.”

“What?” I shriek. “Not only are you gambling again, but you’re using borrowed money?”F.M.L.

He grabs my hands, his eyes desperate. “The situation is bad, honey. I didn’t want to worry you, but I owe more ….”

“How much exactly?”

“Twenty k.”

All the air punches out of my lungs, and my mouth gapes. I try to suck in a breath, but my lungs have stopped functioning. “Are you shitting me, Dad? How the hell are we supposed to pay that?” Twenty thousand dollars is more than I make in a year at the bakery.

He drags his hands over his face and huffs out a breath. “That’s why I did it, honey. Don’t you see? It was our only way out.”

“But you lost, didn’t you? Now, how much more do we owe?”

“Five more.”

“Hundred or thousand?” I squeal.

“Thousand.”

“Damn it, Dad.” Tears sting my eyes, but again, I will them back. How am I ever going to get out of here? Even with scholarships, it suddenly seems impossible. A horrifying thought wriggles its way into my mind. “Who did you borrow it from?”

“I’m not sure exactly. Jimmy brokered the deal.”

“And how much time do you have to pay it back?” That niggling fear intensifies. The Red Dragons were into all kinds of shit. What if he owed them? Everyone knew they were brutal enforcers. That would explain the deadbolt and Dad’s reluctance to make a run to the freakin’ corner store.

“End of the week.”

Cazzo. Shit. Fuck.

I pace a quick circle around our kitchenette, cursing with each turn. “You have to find out who you owe. If it is the Red Dragons, maybe there’s something I can do. I can talk to Bo and—” Oh,merda. He’s going to want me back for this. Would I be willing to tie myself to a man I hate to save my dad’s ass?

I shake my head out, burying the dismal thoughts. There are plenty of loan sharks in Manhattan. What are the chances it’s his gang, right?

“I’ll talk to Jimmy. I was supposed to send him the money directly, but I’ll tell him I’m in a bind.” He reaches for my hand and gives it a squeeze. “We’ll figure this out somehow.”

A deep rumble shakes his belly, drawing my attention to his stained t-shirt. I have to get some food into this man. I search the pantry and come up empty. Not even pasta—a staple when Mom was around.Shit. I really don’t want to risk another encounter with Bo, not until I know for sure about the loan.

Pasta!Grazie a Dio. “Oh, Mrs. DeVito made spaghetti and meatballs. I’ll just run over and grab it.”

“Thanks, honey.” He gives me a smile, a hint of some unguarded emotion seeping through the boozy haze. “I’m so sorry, Stella. I swear I only did it for us. I hate that we live this way. Your mom would’ve been so disappointed in me.” His voice is thick with emotion, and he lowers his gaze to the floor.