Page 82 of The Viper's Wife

“I do.”

She’s so matter-of-fact about it, like it’s normal to pay for yourself when your dad was a high-level member of the fucking Cosa Nostra.

“Val, how much money do you have in your bank account?”

She narrows her eyes, her shoulders tightening. “That’s private.”

“I’m not going to take your money.” In the charged silence that follows, I understand. “Does your family ever borrow money from you?”

“No.” I can’t gauge her expression. “They just take what they need.”

“What the fuck does that mean? How can they just take money from your bank account? You’re an adult.”

“An adult who still lives with her parents—or did. Mom and Dad wouldn’t let me set up a bank account unless they knew my PIN, and they just take money from there when they need it.”

“Who’s ‘they’?”

“Mom, Dad, Stefano.”

Adrenaline rushes through me, and I shove my shaking hands into my coat so I don’t scare her.

Her mom, out of reach. Dad, defector. Stefano is the only poor bastard left in Chicago. I know her family’s safety is a powerful leverage to keep her in this charade of a marriage, but it might not be worth it if Stefano gets to live any longer without going unpunished.

I let him get off easy. Next time I see him, I’ll make him shave off little pieces of his tongue. One scrap for every dollar he’s stolen from his sister.

“How much fucking money do you have in your bank account?”

Her jaw flexes. “Sixty dollars.”

I might be out of touch with finances, but even I know somebody who’s frugal, lives at home, and works should have much more than sixty dollars in their bank account.

“Do you have any debt?”

“Who doesn’t have debt? Not all of us have a rich dad to take care of things.”

“Youdo. Your dad should’ve taken care of these finances, but for some reason, he was born without a fucking brain. Do you know how much debt you have?”

“No,” she says with an expression that suggests I’m extracting teeth from her head. “My parents just take out loans in my name when they need cash.”

The rage is suffocating, but I manage to choke out, “I’ll be back.”

I storm out of the building.

The blast of cold air helps to cut through the fog of anger, but I’m a hair-trigger away from strangling the next man who looks at me wrong.

Taking out loans in her name? Running her into debt? All that woman has done is work and go to school and try to do the right thing—and now she’s sacrificing her chance at that life she’s worked so hard for just to make sure her shit family is safe.

With shaking fingers, I call my accountant.

Twenty minutes later, when I come back to Valeria’s side, she’s speaking to the guy in the brown polo.

“We’ll come find you when we need help,” I tell him, cutting through whatever he was saying.

His eyes go wide at my expression. He mumbles something about “other customers”, and scurries off.

A slight frown crosses Valeria’s mouth. “That was rude.”

“It’s taken care of.”