After He Blinded Me The Don Begged For Forgiveness Chapter 07
But I just thought it was funny.
“That’s right. Caroline was so healthy. And she still died.”
“Do you have any idea what it was like for me, locked up in that broken-down estate?”
“They fed me the servants’ leftovers. They didn’t give me a blanket.”
“My Caroline kicked and kicked in my belly because she was so hungry.”
I touched my stomach without thinking, then let my hand fall back, drained of strength.
“If you really cared about Caroline, you wouldn’t have let them treat me that way.”
“If you really cared about her, you wouldn’t have waited four years to come looking for her!”
I clawed at him and bit down hard on his shoulder.
“Soren Costello—what you owe me, what you owe Caroline—how will you ever pay it back?”
His breath was uneven. He staggered backward.
“No—it isn’t like that.”
“That child—I…”
I lost control. I grabbed my cane and started beating him with it.
I shoved him stumbling out the door.
Suddenly he came to himself and seized both my hands.
“I want to see her.”
“Anneliese, I want to see Caroline.”
I shoved him back, tears streaming.
“Get out!”
“Get the hell out!”
“My Caroline—she doesn’t have a father like you!”
“You don’t deserve to see her!”
I slammed the door shut.
On the other side, Soren was still shouting.
But it was as though I couldn’t hear any of it.
I covered my face with my hands.
The tears had nearly run dry.
But nothing could give me back my Caroline.
The next morning, Soren pounded violently on my door.
“Open the door, Anna.”
“Open the door!”
“I want to see you. I’ve come to take you back.”
His voice grew weaker. So did the banging.
I covered my ears.
I blinked emptily, my pupils unfocused.
In the end, he kicked the door in.
When he drew closer, his footsteps slowed.
“Anneliese, I’ve come to take you home.”
“I didn’t mean what I said yesterday.”
“Padrino’s taking you home. Alright?”
Padrino.
That word was a red-hot needle, piercing the scab that had formed over six years on my chest.
When I’d moved into the Costello house at twelve, that was what I called him.
It was the first word a twelve-year-old girl had learned to say, on the night her parents died.
But in the end, he hadn’t kept me safe.
My hand curled at my side. I just blinked, blankly.
“Home?”
“Back to that estate in the Hudson Valley where you locked me up?”
“Or into a house you can throw me out of at any moment?”
I bit through my lip.
“Do you know? The day you kicked me out for Serena—I sat at the East River pier all night.”
“I thought you’d come find me for Caroline’s sake. But you didn’t!”
He panicked, lunged forward, seized my hand.
“It isn’t like that.”
“It was my fault, before.”
“I’ll sign the Long Island estate over to you. From now on, you can be the one to throw me out.”
“No.” My lips barely moved. I pulled my hand back.
Caroline was gone. What did any of it mean now?
“No—”
“I can. Let’s go home.”
“Home.”
He didn’t give me a chance to respond. He scooped me up and put me in the car.
The black Cadillac DeVille. The one his father had left him.