Page 102 of Scarred Redemption

“Yes, and I thought at the time I was keeping a war from raining down on the streets of Charleston. You saved my life that day. Do you remember? A man in a mask had me cornered. You shot him point blank.”

As I twirled the glass, I studied the amber liquid as if the alcohol would provide me with some sense of comfort or perhaps answers. “An eye for an eye.”

“Yes.” Suddenly, my father sounded as if he’d aged ten years.

“Whoever is left would appear as if they are targeting the Saudis, which we were initially blamed for. Also, the Italians. We were lucky we didn’t lose several of our most vital clients, Pops. You were aware Bedford the Butcher had a family.”

“Of course I was. And yes, I knew Isabel was his daughter, although it’s apparent she wanted nothing to do with him.”

“In a twist of fate that couldn’t be written in a book, I was the man responsible for killing her father.” I wasn’t certain why it felt necessary to admit it. The man was truly reprehensible and I doubted she’d found anything different than what she’d already experienced. “I find it fascinating that so much effort was put into a game.”

“After Isabel saved Mina at the school. I will guess the twist of fate you mentioned was too much of a draw for the perpetrator to ignore.”

“That’s not entirely true. I had picked the architectural firm weeks before. Someone has been tracking her existence, which she wasn’t aware of. Her appearance at the school was accidental. Everything else was one huge game of chess.” I tilted my head toward him, the quiet calm settling in as unnerving as the ugly details. “I can only imagine how much heartache could have been avoided if you’d told me the truth.”

“The truth? Years went by and I thought that chapter of my life was done. A friendship lost. Fine. That I could handle.”

“But you always had a feeling something was off, a shadow looking over your shoulder. And you didn’t tell me!” The anger was seeping past the cracks.

“Don’t raise your voice to me! I’ve lost sleep over trying to find out if the Butcher’s organization still exists. After the warehouse fire, I realized my fears must be correct. I was just as devastated about the explosion as you were, son.”

“Devastated?” I slammed my glass on the table and jerked to a standing position. “You had every chance to talk to me then, to warn me about the man’s deception, but you chose not to. My family is still in danger because of a friendship you underestimated. A man you underestimated. I need to know every detail on him and I know you very well, Pops. You keep a hefty black book regarding all your enemies. This is much bigger than you understand and includes a development corporation trying to interfere with the medical facility. My guess is the Butcher’s tentacles are far reaching, including with certain city and state officials. Maybe even some from relationships you cultivated by threats and use of blackmail, now turning on you and our entire organization.”

He seemed as if an aging man who’d been stuck in the old ways for so long he hadn’t embraced the ability to alter his methods of doing business. Or of handling his enemies.

I was not only disgusted with him, I was incensed with myself as well.

There was nothing left to say at this point.

“Son. I never meant to hurt you or place your family in harm’s way. Never.”

“You know what kills me the most, Pops? You suspected the reason why Anastasia was killed, but you chose not to tell me, allowing me to suffer in silence for years. How long were you going to harbor the information? And what did you think would happen when I found out?”

He had no answer to that, as I hadn’t expected him to.

I loved my father, but respect was earned and reinforced. I would have a difficult time with our relationship in the future. Maybe time would heal. Maybe I’d forgive.

However, I would never forget.

And I refused to remain like him.

CHAPTER 21

Isabel

I’d never realized it was possible to love someone so much it hurt deep inside.

In my case, the love I was experiencing for Maxsim had my heart in a death grip. I’d never expected it possible to love someone with your entire being, but the ache was so intense that I’d found myself unable to breathe.

Any sane person who’d been through as much as I’d been through would do everything in his or her power to put a full stop on every emotion except for maybe anger. Or resentment. I was angry, enraged to the point the murderous thoughts were running through my mind like a Netflix thriller on repeat.

But the fury wasn’t directed at Maxsim, his family, or the fact he was the Pakhan of a powerful Russian Bratva. Instead, the colorful images were directed at whoever my father had decided would take his place.

I remembered telling my sister our father was a criminal when we were both teenagers. She’d laughed at first, but my continual insistence had begun the rift in our friendship. I’d debated calling her after Maxsim had left. Since she knew I was alive, conversing with her wasn’t considered off limits.

However, I’d realized a tiny part of me had known the mean girl inside of me would have been gloating in telling her I’d been right. At least the good girl side of me, the one who even after being kidnapped still believed in the best in people, had decided she deserved to keep her bubble about our father intact.

Even if what few words she’d said after coming to the diner at my request had included calling me stupid for believing Maxsim gave a damn about me.