Page 88 of Jig's Last Dance

He’s silent for too long and I close my eyes, cringing when he chuckles humorlessly. “No worries, baby.”

After, he walks from the room while I stare into nothing. I guess I have my answer, but now I’m fucking devastated.

∞∞∞

My thoughts force me from the house. Thankfully, no one is around to stop me. Even though I’d rather claw my eyes out than drive Castinetti’s car, I don’t have much choice unless I want to walk.

For a while, I drive aimlessly, pushing back the dark cloud pressing at my chest. We’re surrounded by death and still seeking to find a resolution. The problem is, there isn’t one.

These men aren’t going to roll over.

Jig’s sister, those women, my parents. Their deaths are meaningless because this is meaningless.

And knowing my father is a stone-cold killer in said business makes my skin crawl.

Did Dad kill innocent people? Who am I kidding?

He knew and maybe even participated in sex trafficking. The time for idolizing him is long over.

I don’t want to go back to Castinetti’s, but I need answers, and he’s the only one who can give them to me. The question is, will he? And what does he truly want with me?

The house is quiet when I enter, and I head straight to my room, pulling out the box that Iris insisted I grab in exchange for information. It looks like a jewelry box, but inside it contains pictures rather than childhood trinkets. Sucking in a breath, I hold them in my hands.

I have zero desire to see more filth, but I have to know why this was important to her. Knowledge is power, and I need all the power I can get.

The first picture is of Iris with her mother, I assume. She’s young, maybe five or six. Her bright red hair rests against her shoulders in tight braids.

She’s wearing a pretty dress and has a wide smile on her face. Her mom is a tall woman with broad shoulders and dark hair. She’s laughing, her mouth wide. It’s easy to see their happiness, and I smile.

The next picture includes John. He’s standing in front of a bed with a girl behind him. But what’s most disturbing is he’s holding a small child in his arms.

Who’s child is it? The girl tied to the bed who refuses to look at the camera?

The last picture is of the same child. At the bottom, written in black pen, is an address.

Below that, it says: wherever you go, there I’ll be.

With a shiver, I tuck the box in my bag and set it beside the door. It’s five fifteen. Uncle Sal should be home soon.

After a quick shower, I put on a pretty red wrap-around dress and pull my hair back into a messy bun. Forgoing makeup, I swipe on lip gloss and head downstairs.

Sal looks up from his desk when I enter the library. There’s no surprise on his face. Of course, I’m sure his goons informed him the moment I arrived, assuming the car didn’t.

“Ah, Alice,” he says, his dark eyes warm.

Blinking, I pull my lips into a smile, but I’m sure it doesn’t reach my eyes. If he thinks anything of my adoration from my childhood remains, well, he’s delusional.

Now all I see is a cold monster.

“Good to see you home. I won’t be here for dinner.”

“Oh?” I can’t say I’m sorry, although this means I won’t be getting answers. Maybe for the best. I can’t help but feel as though I’m playing with fire whenever I’m around him.

“Yes, I have business,” he says, glancing at his watch.

My mouth sours as I wonder if some poor girl is going to regret her life tonight.

“I have a little time. How’s our little plan going?” He cocks his head to the side, and I avert my gaze.