Page 8 of Save Me

“Don’t patronise me. I’m not a child.”

He nods slowly. “I guess to me you are.”

“Don’t even go there,” I snap. “Why are you here? To make sure I’m okay after your man tried to shoot me in the head?”

“We need to talk about things, but also, I’m here to tell you that Bigsy was a massive oversight, and it will never happen again. I’m cleaning house.”

“What doesthatmean?”

“It means anyone who doesn’t pass the loyalty test is out.”

“And by out you mean…”

“Dead.”

“Okay, then.” I guess I deserved that.

I keep my eyes locked on his, unflinching. Every muscle in my body screams to look away, to break this unbearable tension that comes with his scrutiny. But I don’t. I can’t because, more than anything, I need him to see me as an equal, not just the daughter he abandoned.

“Moving on,” he starts. “You’re aware of the Syndicate’s influence, aren’t you?”

“Of course,” I reply, my voice cold and even.

“We control more than just petty crime in this city. Our operations extend to the highest levels. We manipulate the market, we sway political decisions, and yes, we have a firm grip on Crestmont University. Everything runs through us. Drugs, gambling rings, you name it. The profits are substantial.”

“Drugs?” I latch onto the one thing which is a hard no for me.

“Drugs.”

“Fuck,” I mutter, shaking my head.

“Not everything in this world is going to be something you approve of, Vogue. I’m not here for your permission to run my business how I want to, nor do I care for your judgement.”

“Wow,” I state, crossing my arms. “Who said anything about wanting you to change what you do?”

“I can sense it in your tone.”

“Well, sense this… I hate drugs. I’ve seen what they can do, and I won’t be part of making or selling them.”

“Then we have a problem.”

“How so?”

“It’s time you learned how to thrive in this world. There is no turning back the clock. You’re in it, and I’m here to ensure you move on the correct trajectory.”

“To do what exactly?”

“Take over one day.”

I snort in amusement, but he isn’t laughing. “You’re not joking.”

“Do I look like I am? It’s a legacy. One you were born into without knowing, but here you are.”

“Legacy.” The word hangs between us, heavy with implication.

His eyes scrutinise me like I’m an asset, and he’s assessing me for potential flaws. “You’re my daughter, and whether you were raised in Westfield or here in Crestmont, the blood that runs through your veins is a testament to a lineage of power.”

“Power,” I repeat, feeling the room spin slightly. It has nothing to do with the slight hangover that is kicking in now that I’m on my feet with nothing in my stomach since I can’t even remember when.