Page 87 of Captivated

“I’m sorry,” he told her.

Liliana shook her head. “Anything I said pissed him off even more, anyway. He just hit me harder. And I couldn’t even hear what he was saying at that point—everything sounded like I was under water, and I couldn’t see. The limo driver had pulled over, but I don’t think Rich even noticed. He was trying to get on top of me—I don’t really know what he planned to do, but he’d ripped my dress. It all went black for a minute.”

“You remember what happened afterward?”

“Not really. I was told the driver opened the back door, and I got out. I don’t really remember how I got to the hospital … just my dad coming in, and he was crying. That’s the only time I ever saw my dad cry. My sister didn’t recognize me. The bruising and swelling was that bad—he’d fractured my orbital socket in two places.”

Liliana’s hand came up to touch her eyebrow, and her fingers drifted along the line. “You can’t see it because the plastic surgeon is one of the best in the country, but there’s a scar that runs through my eyebrow. I have a metal plate here now.”

Now that’d she started talking, she didn’t seem to want to stop. Joe didn’t want her to keep hurting, though. And it was so fucking clear that she was hurting.

“You don’t have to—”

Liliana shook her head. “A lot of stuff happened afterward. His father’s a senator, and he’s trying to get into politics, too. All of the charges that were filed disappeared. It was swept away—reporters were paid off, and stories never even got the chance to run. I didn’t even get to talk to the detective who came to the hospital that night after that. The next time I went in, the Chief of Police was the one there. Martin Abraham, or something. He interrogated me. He made it feel like I was the abuser, and not the victim.”

Joe now understood why that name was on his list.

“I found out after from my dad—or because I overhead him talking with my uncle, Dante—that the Chief of Police was who the Earl family had been using as protection. I guess. He was helping clean shit up, and sweeping it all away. He was threatening my dad, too.”

Joe’s brow lifted. “Your father? Lucian Marcello.”

Liliana nodded.

“What kind of balls—”

“It doesn’t take very much for a mafioso to get arrested in this city, and the charges almost always stick when it’s something petty. I was scared they were going to take my dad away, so I asked him to stop trying to fight them. It was okay, I told him, because Rich was gone, and he was going to leave me alone.”

“So, he did stop,” Joe murmured.

Liliana shrugged. “Yeah. I moved out of my other place and into here. I saw a therapist for a little while. I got back to dancing once my face was healed, and the doctor said it was good. I just … wanted to get back to my life. I didn’t tell people. We kept it quiet. I didn’t want everyone to look at me and be like, oh, there’s the girl whose boyfriend beat the hell out of her.”

“Liliana—”

“Please don’t see me like that, Joe.”

He stilled.

“What?”

She glanced up at him—all water gone from her eyes, and only a firm resolve staring back. “I know I’m kind of a flight risk, and I run when something seems like it’s going to hurt me. I’m sorry I’m not perfect, but please don’t see me as that victim. I don’t want to be her.”

Didn’t she know?

Didn’t she fucking know?

Joe grabbed Liliana’s face in his hands, and drew her close enough for him to press three quick kisses one right after the other to her lips. “You’re just Liliana to me, Tesoro. You’re always going to be my Liliana.”

She nodded with a shaky exhale.

Joe smiled. “It’s going to be fine—we’ll figure this out. Whatever stupid shit the guy is trying to play, it’s not going to work.”

He got it now, too.

Got why they called him in.

Why they waited.

Why they didn’t tell him.