Page 67 of Leverage

Smack dab on the expensive side of the suburbs, my father's house was newly built but still maintained its southern charm. It expanded on both sides with a porch that stretched the width and the brick lit up with exterior lamps, casting a buttery glow on the well-groomed property. With his salary, the family could afford to have a perfectly manicured yard, their bi-annual vacations, and occasional payment to a bastard.

I imagined Cheryl didn't bat an eye when the money disappeared from their joint account after he paid my tuition. Maybe he was smart and kept a separate account— just to keep the stain of my existence off the marital record. Maybe, she knew all along and only decided not to reach out. After all, politicians were famous for having skeletons in their closets.

Except my dad’s skeletons were living and breathing.

I squeezed Yuri's hand against the leather of the center console as he pulled to a stop along the curb. “Shouldn’t we park further down?” I whispered.

“Doesn’t matter. This car was stolen.”

My eyes widened.

“And Matteo will handle any charges.” I nodded, stifling the shudder that dared to rock through me. I knew exactly how Yuri’s older brother would handle it.

He nodded toward the house and turned off the car. “Ready?”

It was surreal. We had gone over the plan a hundred times. I act the part of a terrified captive, Yuri of the murderous captor, and he threatens the both of us within an inch of our lives until my father folds. It seemed simple— and also terrifyingly complex. The idea of being in the same room with my father after what he did was enough to make me nauseous and I wasn’t sure how I would be able to keep my cool. Knowing that I was about to break into a house and pretend to fear for my life kept my heartbeat thrumming loud in my ears. Meanwhile, the rest of the neighborhood was fast asleep.

Not a dog barked. No birds were chirping. The streets were empty, just as the residents preferred. These places had been untouched by the cartel, or so they liked to pretend. But it was a well-crafted lie.

Someone's junkie son or even a lonely housewife depended on the Zaragoza’s product and now, my father was going to ensure they saw more of it.

And I would stop at nothing to deliver payback to Yuri’s family.

And to myself.

Yuri turned to me and palmed my cheeks. “Darya, you didn’t answer me. Are you ready?”

“Yes.” A swirling ball of excitement and dread sat heavy in my gut. I ran through the plan again in my head, suddenly focusing on all the minute details I couldn’t seem to bring into focus. I sucked in a deep breath as my thoughts raced and my head fogged. Yuri reached for the gun below the seat and the glint of metal pulled me back. What the hell did I just get myself into?

Why in the fuck did I think I could do this?

But I already knew the answer to that. It was Yuri.

This was the only way I could wipe away his sins against his family and reinstate him as the vicious and brutal cartel boss he never stopped being. There was no question. If an ounce of what I felt for him was honest, my heart couldn’t take his ruin.

Our footsteps were light but the crackling of the gun against his hip rattled in my ears like fireworks. It was choking in the thick, night air as we neared the back door— also lit up with inviting lights and decorative greenery. It was an entrance with a pretty bow, just waiting to be opened.

My eyes darted to Yuri, and we sat there for a second, soaking up a moment of truth before we were both forced to act like enemies again. Only weeks ago, we were just that— two people at each other’s throats just waiting for the other to give in. Was I a good enough actress to pretend I was still there? Terrified and defiant?

He waited until I was ready and when I nodded, he jammed the butt of the gun against the door and then kicked in, sending the door flying open with a crash. I jumped in place before his fingers gripped my upper arm and yanked me forward.

We were captor and captive now. The coldness in his stare sent chills down my spine.

He dragged me behind him with the gun in his other hand, pointed forward as if any moment my father was going to step out, ready to fight.

“Clark,” he shouted. “Get the fuck out here.”

We passed through a mud room with shoes lined up along the wall and two identical adolescent boy backpacks hanging from the organized cubby holes. Everything was organized and neatly in its place. But there was no time to scowl as Yuri yanked me forward through the kitchen, illuminated by the light beneath the microwave. I hissed beneath his grip as we moved silently, seamlessly as if we knew exactly where we were going.

Yuri did. Led on pure instinct.

Through a grand dining room with too many chairs and table placements for my father's modest family, I caught the whisper of faint footsteps that were not our own. I looked to Yuri but his attention was already focused— narrowed on an archway that opened into a hallway.

“Clark! Yuri yelled again. “I have daddy's little girl right here.”

Even knowing he was acting; the phrase still sent a twinge to my chest. He shook me hard and grunted, a reminder of my role. I squeezed my eyes shut and mustered my courage, unable to put the confrontation off any longer.

“Dad,” I screamed. Calling him that after everything he'd done sent me reeling. Yuri just dragged me forward, not giving me the chance to sink into my thoughts.

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