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There's no going back from this.

Daddy strides toward me, each step deliberate. He doesn't look afraid. The anger on his face, though – mixed with something else – makes me want to look away.

His hands close around my throat. Hands that once held me, touched me, took care of me. He pushes me back until I hit the wall.

"Look at me," Daddy commands, and I obey.

I swallow hard, but it feels like there's a lump stuck in my throat. Daddy's grip is firm but not cruel, just enough to remind me he's in control.

"Why did you kill this man?" Daddy asks.

"Because I was paid to," I answer honestly.

"By who? And why?"

"By a mafia boss from another city. I don't know why I had to kill him."

"So you just kill anyone you're told to?"

"No. I do my research first."

I'm spilling my secrets like Daddy's voice is a truth serum, dragging out every truth I've ever hidden.

"What research?"

"Background checks. I make sure they deserve it before I act."

"And this man deserved it?"

"He did," I say calmly, but from the inside I'm burning.

I don't even care that my Daddy would probably call the police on me. I would go behind bars if that's what he wants and needs. But I can't bear to lose him. Yet, I know that the second he saw me take away a life, I already lost him.

"What do you do with witnesses?"

"I kill them."

And I don't regret it. I bet he can see it in my eyes.

"Why aren't you killing me, then?"

I flinch. Of course, he'd ask that.

"I would never hurt you," I whisper. "Least of all you."

I would much rather slice my own throat.

"Why? I'm a witness. What if I call the police?"

"Then I'd wait for them to arrive." My voice breaks and I glare at my Daddy as anger starts to surface. It hurts that he believes I would hurt him. "I would never lay a hand on you."

"Even if you go to prison?" he challenges.

"Even then. I would much rather slice my own throat than hurt you."

The word Daddy was on my tongue, but I swallowed it back.

His eyes harden, and his hand around my throat tightens. For a moment, I think this is it – he'll call the cops, tell me he's disgusted, walk away forever. But he doesn't.