I slid the black folder across my father’s desk and watched my daughter’s hand freeze in midair.
Three days ago, I told her she was infertile. Three days ago, I watched her engagement disappear. Three days ago, I stopped being her father and became the man who would sell her to survive.
“There is another proposal,” I said.
She laughed. It was the kind of sound that comes from someone who’s already broken.
“That was fast.”
I kept my voice steady. “It is an unusual opportunity.”
“To do what?” Her eyes met mine, and I saw twelve years of loyalty burning in them. “Sell the defective daughter before the gossip lowers her value?”
My wife stood beside me in her black silk and pearls, silent as stone. She hadn’t looked at our daughter with warmth since Dr. Ferris said the word.
Infertile.
One diagnosis. One lie I helped orchestrate. One word that erased everything she had built.
Because dynasties need heirs. Because the Carusos needed bloodlines. Because I was too weak to say no when my wife decided our daughter’s worth had expired.
My daughter stared at the folder like it might burn her.
She didn’t open it.
Her hand hovered there, trembling, refusing to touch it. She had always been smart. She knew something was wrong the moment Ferris hesitated when she asked to see the images.
“Show me the images,” she’d said.
And he hadn’t.
I tightened my grip on my cane and felt the weight of what I was about to do settle in my chest like a stone.
The name printed inside that folder would destroy her.
Dante Moretti.
The most feared crime boss in New York. A man who didn’t negotiate. A man who took what he wanted and left nothing but silence behind.
And I was handing her to him.
My daughter straightened. Her voice was quiet, controlled, but I heard the fracture underneath.
“Why wasn’t I asked to sit?”
My wife’s expression never changed.
I said nothing.
Because if I spoke, I would have to admit the truth. That I believed her when she questioned the doctor. That I knew something was wrong. That I let them do this to her anyway.
She pulled her hand back from the folder.
Her engagement ring caught the light.
Adrian had ended it through his attorney. He never called. Never gave her the chance to explain or fight or even say goodbye.
And now I was doing the same thing.
