Make Me Beg, Daddy

Chapter 28

He laughs. “‘Deal’ implies you have some leverage to utilize. If you don’t have that, I’d call this more of a ‘request.’ And even that’s being generous.”

“It’s a deal,” I insist. “I’m calling it that since I’m the one talking.”

He shakes his head. “That’s not how leverage works.”

“How would you know? Since when are you the one on this side of the bargaining table?”

That gets a small twitch out of the corner of his mouth. He doesn’t answer my rhetorical question. He looks at me for a second, then straightens up off my counter, rises to his full height, and puts his hands in his coat pockets.

It’s kind of terrifying. All joy and light get sucked out of the room. There’s only the bare bulb over my head and the emerald shimmer of his eyes. Everything else is dark and scary.

Suddenly, I’m not enjoying this so much.

And I’m wondering if I made the worst mistake of my life when I dialed his number.

“Lilah,” he rumbles, “I didn’t come here to negotiate.”

“Then why did you come?”

“To collect.”

A surge of icy fear terrorizes my insides. “Collect what? The building? That signature isn’t mine! Connor forged it. I have a lawyer who says the whole thing is worthless and it won’t survive a court battle.”

To my surprise, Kane laughs. “I know the signature isn’t yours.”

That stops me. “You know?”

“I’ve known since before the ink was dry.”

“Then you know you can’t take my building.”

“I can take it on January 15th and you can spend a year and two hundred thousand dollars trying to get it back,” he says cruelly. “How’s your savings account, Lilah?”

Sneering, he leans closer, so his face is all I can see.

“And let’s say you somehow found the cash. You checked all your pockets and shook out the couch cushions and there it is. Do you know what happens then, sladkaya?”

I’d retreat, but there’s nowhere to go. Half a step back and I’ll bump into the espresso machine. I’m trapped, in my own bakery, while a huge, terrifying man with my destroyed deadbolt in his fist threatens to rip away the last thing I have left.

I shake my head. “What happens?”

“It goes a little something like this: You spend a lot of money dragging me into court. Eventually, you get your wish. You’ll get all dressed up, fierce, battle face on, because you’d hate for me to see you as anything less than an equal. And then, someone we both know would take the stand.”

“Who?” I’m frowning, too flustered to keep up.

“Why, your husband, of course,” Kane says innocently. “He’s witnessed every part of this.”

“Connor would have to admit he forged it,” I say. “In front of a judge, under oath? That’s a crime if he lies.”

“Yes,” Kane agrees, “it is. And if that’s how the world worked, then people like you would always win and people like me would get the punishment we deserve.” He reaches out and strokes one finger on the back of my exposed wrist until I rip it away. “Unfortunately, that isn’t how the world works. In this life, when you hurt people, they say the things you want them to say. Oaths have a funny way of becoming unimportant when there’s a crowbar swinging at your kneecap.”

My jaw drops. “You… You wouldn’t…”

“In my world, Connor will take that stand,” he continues. “And he’ll say his wife knew everything. She was there when it was discussed. She was worried about the tax exposure, so she asked him to sign for her. The four million went into a business he was building for the two of you, he’ll tell the judge and jury. And she’s doing this to him now because she’s a vengeful harpy who caught him with her sister and wants him ruined.” He pauses. “He cries a little on the stand. He’s good at that, isn’t he? I bet he’d cry so good.”

I’m crumbling. If it weren’t for the counter keeping me upright, I’d be a defeated puddle on the floor.

“You’d argue back, of course. But then it’s your word against his,” Kane says. “A judge will take a year to figure out which one of you is lying, and you’ll pay dearly for every hour of it.”

“You’re not really that much of a monster. You wouldn’t hurt Connor to make him do that.”

He shrugs. “I bet I wouldn’t even have to. He’s got a taste for gambling, doesn’t he? I wouldn’t have to pay much at all. Frankly, he’s got nothing left. Between the alimony he’ll owe you and whatever your parasite of a sister sucks out of him, he’s desperate. Right and wrong don’t factor into his decision making anymore. It’s rent or no rent.”

I look down at my sad, callused hands. The cracking knuckles. The stubs of nails I never have time to paint. “You know, when I called that number, I had this whole idea that I was doing something brave.”

“You were, sladkaya,” purrs Kane. “It takes a brave soul to admit you’ve lost.”

“Oh, shut up.” But I can’t even be properly mad. I just feel lost.

I move a stack of takeout menus from one side of the register to the other for no reason at all. Then I ask him the question that’s been bothering me. It doesn’t matter much in the long run. It’s just something I wanted to know.

“Why my building?”

Kane goes still.

“You loaned out four million dollars,” I remind him. “Connor could barely be trusted with a lotto scratch-off. He plays cards in a basement in Marine Park for forty bucks a hand. Nobody hands a man like that four million bucks… unless the money was never the point.” I spread my hands. Twenty-four hundred square feet with two ovens and a walk-in that whines at night. “It’s a bakery in Sunset Park, not a diamond mine. So why my building?”

Still nothing.

“Kane. Give me that much at least.”

“You’re not ready for that answer,” he says at last.

“Oh, come on.”

He shakes his head. “No. I won’t discuss it further.”

I don’t know this man well at all, but I’ve spent enough time with him to hear the finality in his voice.

Which means I’m done.

I look at the letter on my counter with my blood on the corner of the last page. In sixteen days, everything I’ve ever loved is gone.

I’m beaten. There’s no version of this where I’m not.

“Alright,” I say. “You win. Tell me where you want me and what I’m signing. I’d appreciate it if you’d let me get my mixers out before whatever happens next. Some of them are on payment plans.”

Kane doesn’t say anything. He just stares at me as a strange kind of storm rages behind those green eyes.

“Stop dragging it out,” I snap. “You won, okay? I concede. All hail the victor. Now, can I just sign whatever stupid paper confirms all this?”

I reach for the pen cup in the corner, but as I do, I accidentally knock my father’s planner over the edge. It flops on the floor at Kane’s feet.

Kane crouches down and picks it up before I can run around the counter and beat him to it. I hold out a hand, but he doesn’t give it back.

Instead, he flips it open and starts to peruse.

“Give me that,” I order.

He makes no move to do so. “What is this?”

“It’s a calendar. My dad’s. Give it back.”

He doesn’t. He flips a page. Then another. And I know what he’s looking at, because it’s kinda hard to miss it.

X. X. X. X.

“Explain it,” he says.

I could tell him to go to hell. It wouldn’t be the first time tonight. He definitely deserves it.

Instead, I hear myself start talking, and then I can’t get the brakes on.

“My lawyer wanted me to comb through all our bank statements for proof of infidelity and misuse of joint marital funds. So I’ve been sitting in that stupid office since Tuesday with a highlighter, going line by line, looking for hotels and dinners and anything that shouldn’t be there. I thought…”

When I trail off, he prods me. “You thought what?”

I take a shuddering breath. My throat feels tight and achy. “I thought the affair was just over a year old. But there’s a Marriott charge from twenty-six months ago. And then there’s one before that. And another before that one.” I take the planner out of his hands, finally, and he lets me. “It’s not fourteen months—it’s years. I don’t even know how many yet, because I ran out of paperwork before I ran out of knives in the back.”

Kane watches me and waits.

“So I got a pen,” I say, “and I started marking the dates where it seemed plausible that they were together. And every single one of them is a day I remember. Family holidays, mostly.” I flip it open and turn it toward him and point. “Easter. I ran the egg hunt in the backyard for my cousin’s kids, and he came out of the house with his hair messed up and said he’d been helping my mother in the basement. Fourth of July, him and Vivian went out for ‘ice.’ Thanksgiving, he stayed home to finish up work stuff.”