“Please.”
Georgetta’s eyes widen. I never say please. Not to her. I’ll do it for Ian. I’ll do it on my knees with his cock shoved down my throat to the point that I can’t breathe. I’ll say please and beg for mercy from the relentless pressure of his dick. I’ll do that.
But I don’t say please to other women.
Ineverhave.
Only, I’m doing it now, aren’t I?
I’m saying please because I need to know.
I’m saying please because I need answers.
“Do you remember when you used to hide on the stairs and eavesdrop on what was happening around the house? Behind that little statue on the landing?”
I nod. I remember it well. There are many little hiding places in my father’s house. Most of them I’ve outgrown, but there are a few hiding spots that are big enough for a grown-ass woman to lurk behind. Places like corners or oversized plants make good hiding spots, and when nobody wants to think about your existence, anyway, blending in becomes a simple task.
“Well, one day when you were hiding and I had to haul you back to bed, you left something behind. Do you remember?”
I nod. “My sock.” It was a cold night and I’d accidentally kicked off my sock at some point. Georgetta said she didn’t understand how a big girl could lose a sock, but I had. “It was the one with the elephants on it.”
“Well, I wasn’t going to leave a sock on the landing,” she tells me. “Your father would have lost his mind having any sort of evidence that a child lived in the house.”
“He always hated that,” I admit. Maybe it was his way of protecting me from his business partners. Now that I know what the men in his world are capable of, perhaps there’s a reason my father didn’t want them thinking about him having a daughter.
“When I went back, I found the sock right away, but I didn’t take the main staircase back upstairs.”
“Why not?”
“It was very...open,” she says slowly. “If I walked around the house at night, I preferred to take the private staircase unless you were with me.”
“You mean there were men lurking around,” I realize.
“I was younger back then. They looked at me differently.”
I glared at her, narrowing my eyes. “You’re still young.”
“Not by their standards.”
“Then what am I?” I suddenly ask, realizing the other reason my dad may have made a shady deal.
Georgetta steps forward and takes my hands in hers. “Your father is a piece of shit, Rose. Forgive me for telling you now. Forgive me for not getting you out of there sooner.”
I nod, embarrassed to be having this talk. Still, I’m hoping she’ll tell me about Ian.
“Your father tells everyone you’re younger than you are,” she says. “Mr. Ricci thinks you’re 22.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Seriously?”
“And a virgin,” she adds.
I chuckle, shaking my head. We both know that hasn’t been true for a long time. Georgetta is the one who made sure I understood how birth control worked and the importance of condoms. As soon as I started getting my period, she sat me down and talked with me about what really happens to mafia daughters who get pregnant.
It never ends well.
“Anyway, back then I looked a lot younger, too, so I needed to be careful. I had just stepped into the servant’s staircase and closed the door almost all the way when I heard people approaching.”
“So you eavesdropped?”