Page 50 of Revenge

“Fine.”

I park my car on the opposite side of the street and lean my ass against the car door. I fold my arms across my chest and settle in to watch the entrance. Sooner or later, some member of the King family will come out that door, and I will be here to talk to them.

Of course, the sky opens up and begins to pour rain down on me.

I put the top up on the car but don’t change my position.

I don’t care if I have to wait for five days in the fucking rain.

I’m not leaving here until I see my wife.

Dahlia

“You ruined this family!” My mother screams at me. She’s been crying all morning, ever since the article came out in the Manhattan Times society pages.

I was able to shut down or at least stall my father’s plan to send the FBI after Antonio with my promise to go public with the whole story if he did.

He whisked us back to Manhattan, and I’ve been a prisoner here ever since. I called Bea to come and get me, but the doorman refused to let her in. My father has security guards stationed outside our door–ostensibly for our protection, but when I tried to go out, they wouldn’t let me.

That’s why I called the reporter. I realized it was a way to protect Antonio in the future. Now, anything that happens to him will be examined by the public, and hopefully, the law, with the lens of the story I wove about star-crossed lovers kept apart. Another West Side Story. I kept out the part about Antonio ruining my father financially and the bloodbath on The Honeymoon.

“I’m not the one who ruined it.” My voice holds all the censure I have for my father and his behavior. He’s the one who mistreated Antonio. The one who was cocky or foolish enough to lose his entire fortune to the man, and the man who somehow still thinks he has any say in my life or how I live it.

I’m no longer beholden to my parents. The fetters of obligation and obedience are finally gone. I may have thought I was an adult before my wedding day, but I was still a child, acting for them.

Now, I’m a woman. A woman with power she can wield all on her own, simply with a call to a reporter.

“I’m not the one who started a war with the Beretta Crime Family and thinks he can win it. But I am the one who can put an end to it.”

“You put an end to us. To everything we had. You were going to be a president’s wife,” my mother shrieks. She’s at the wet bar, pouring herself a drink, even though it’s barely after noon. Outside, the sky is charcoal grey, and pouring rain.

“We have nothing,” I remind her. “My husband already took it all.”

My mother whirls, her mouth open in shock at my use of the words my husband. “Is that what this is about? You care about this man?” Before I can answer, she draws herself up into a rant. “You don’t care about him! Those were lies you told the newspaper. Desperate lies designed to ruin us. You just want your revenge because you had no say in your marriage.”

“Ah.” I fold my arms across my chest. “There it is. You finally admit it. You’ve been trying to sugarcoat your choices for my life all these years, but that’s the reality. I was a prisoner in a gilded cage. Raised only to do your bidding and fulfill the destiny you wish you’d had!”

“Enough.” My father emerges from his office in yesterday’s clothes. His hair is tousled, and there’s an alcohol stain on his shirt. Like my mother, he’s day drinking. “We need to pull together as a family now. We’re all we have.”

I let out a scoff.

The last thing I want to do is pull together with this family.

Out on the street, someone is blasting Puccini–the same damn song I sang for Antonio.

My heart feels as if it will rip from my chest.

The story I told the reporter wasn’t a lie. I have loved that man since the day I met him. Maybe I didn’t know him, but my soul recognized his. We were destined for each other. I feel certain of it.

Nothing else would explain this connection I’ve felt with him from the beginning. The flutters of excitement every time I’m in his presence, the sense of trust I feel without there being any basis for it.

I almost got him killed by trying to “pull together” with my parents. What would my life look like if I cut ties with them and went to the man I believe I’m meant for?

I hear honking from outside. Long steady honks. Honks in the “Shave and a Haircut” rhythm. Then the song “Be My Baby.”

I gasp and run to the front balcony.

“Dahlia! What are you doing?”