Page 124 of Ripped Veil (Ripped Bratva)

“You have nothing to worry about as far as I’m concerned.”

She looks at me skeptically. A lifetime of distrusting men is swirling in her eyes. I can’t really blame her—I’m sure she’s seen the worst behavior the male species has to offer.

“What happened yesterday?” she asks abruptly.

“Yesterday?”

“Elyssa came back to the room with wet hair, wearing clothes that clearly belong to you,” Charity explains. “She told me she fell into the pool and a maid gave her those clothes. That you had nothing to do with it. But I know Elyssa. I know when she’s lying. And I definitely know when she’s not telling me something.”

I cock my head to the side. “If she hasn’t told you, she doesn’t want you to know.”

“She’s got a weird fascination with you,” Charity says, as though she’s disappointed with Elyssa’s short-sightedness. “And I get it. You were the handsome stranger who saved her on the most transformative night of her life. But I think her—let’s be nice and call it a ‘preoccupation’—is dangerous.”

“Why do you think that?”

“Becauseyou’redangerous.”

“Do I need to remind you that you’re the one who wanted to come here with me?”

Her jaw clenches. I realize how scared she must have felt that day to have seized upon me as her lifeline.

“You’re Theo’s father. I was hoping that might mean something to you. Maybe I was wrong, though.”

“What are you saying?”

“That you don’t seem very interested in Theo at all. And he deserves better. So does Elyssa. So if you don’t want them in your life, give them the means to survive on their own.”

“Ah, so that’s the real reason you’re here. Money.”

Her expression darkens, but she doesn’t deny it. “Money is security,” she says simply. “And this is a man’s world. I’ve done what I could but it never seems to be enough. The deck is stacked against women like Elyssa and me. So yeah, it forces me to break into your office and ask you for money. But surviving is more important than pride. If you’d ever suffered in your life, you’d know that.”

Her words are rife with emotion, with sorrow, despite the fact that her face is devoid of it. She’s learned to hide her scars from the rest of the world. But men like me know where to look.

“What makes you think I haven’t suffered?” I ask, flipping the conversation around.

She looks around melodramatically, gesturing to the walls of the mansion as if it’s self-explanatory. “Seriously?”

“Money doesn’t equal happiness.”

“Says the man with the money,” she sighs. “Anyway, I think I’ve made my point. I’m going back to bed.”

“How long were you in my office for?”

“About an hour,” she replies. “And yes, I snooped. But don’t worry—I have no interest in getting involved in anything that’s in this room.”

“And I’m just supposed to take your word for it?”

She looks me dead in the eye. “That’s exactly what you’re supposed to do.”

“Give me one good reason why.”

She shrugs. “Because I’m not a liar.”

I bark out a laugh. “How the hell would I know that?”

“Use your instincts,” she says as she sashays to the door. “Trust me: I’m aware that every face on that wall is dangerous. I speak from experience.”

“Wait,” I command, forcing her to stop in her tracks. “What do you mean?”

---