“I think I know exactly who my father is, Wicked. You don’t need to tell me. You don’t need to say anything more, and anyway—” I turn back in my chair, finally braving myself to look at him. “I’m more worried about the kind of man you are. Where are you taking me, Wicked? And why?” I didn’t expect him to answer my questions. If being the daughter of the mafia has taught me anything, it’s that women don’t know anything. I’m not important enough to be asking questions and he doesn’t need to answer them. Something I would die on a mountain to change.

He licks the side of his lip, and I quickly divert my eyes back to the road in front of me. “If I could tell you everything, I would. If I could tell you anything, I fucking would.”

I blink back the tears that build behind my eyes. “I don’t believe you.”

“Yeah? Well, I don’t fucking care.” The sun is in full beam now, and I’ve lost track of so much time that I don’t even notice when he turns the wheel off the road and enters a long dusty path that leads to God knows where.

I spin back around to watch as the road we were just on slowly disappears. Wrapping my arms around my belly, I close my eyes and retrace all of the memories I have of my family. Anything.

“Are they going to kill me?” I ask without opening my eyes. I already know what he’s going to say, but I need to ask anyway. Turning to face him one last time, I wait until his eyes connect with mine. “Are you going to kill me?” He doesn’t answer, turning the radio off and continuing to drive us off-road. It must go on forever, because by the time we finally pull up to a long wired gate, my ass is numb. I haven’t moved.

He shuts off the car and we sit and wait.

“Aren’t you going to get out and open my door?” I ask sarcastically, looking out the window beside me. “Or what?” I follow the lines of the tall redwood trees in the distance. “You afraid I’ll run you over.”

“Look at me, Ruby.” I don’t. And I have to fight back the large rock lodged in my throat to stop myself from crying. From exposing every single emotion that has been building inside of me since he took me. “Ruby…” That simple word said by lips that whisper lies. I hate him.

His fingers come to the back of my neck and I jolt as electricity shoots down the base of my spine from the connection. He forces me around until I’m looking directly at him. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.” He says the words, but the corner of his lip curls upward.