Violent Sins (New York Sinners Series Book 3)

9| Alliance

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Alliance

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Chapter 9: Alliance (Rose's POV)

The restaurant bustled around me, families and friends talking animatedly over lunch. I, on the other hand, stood alone at the entrance, my anticipation mounting with each passing minute as I prepared for yet another blind date despite knowing that all that anticipation would fizzle out into oblivion, never to be seen again. 

Those words summarized the story of my life for the past week. 

Blind date after blind date, disaster after disaster. Absolute horror. 

It all started a little over a week ago when my parents demanded my presence at their place. That should have been my first clue. My father inviting me for a meal? Strike one. 

"How have you been, Rose?" Dad asked, leaving the meal before him untouched at the dining table. 

My movements slowed in confusion before I set my cutlery down to meet his gaze at the head of the table. "Good," I answered hesitantly. "Why do you ask?" 

He scoffed lightly, "Is it so weird for a father to ask about his daughter's well-being?" 

My eyes darted to Dom's across the table. "No," I replied in Mandarin, "of course not. I've been well, Dad." Dom almost cringed at my response, and that confused me more. What the hell was going on? 

"We've been meaning to speak to you," my mother added. 

"About what?" I questioned. 

"We've been thinking, Rose... and it's high time for you to settle down," Dad said sternly. 

I almost choked on the drink going down my throat. "Excuse me?" 

"It's not like this is news to you, Rose," Dad said, "we went over this months ago." 

I sputtered, desperate for a way not only out of this conversation but out of this fucking house. All of a sudden, it felt like the walls were closing in on me. "But Dad—" 

"But nothing, Rose," he snapped firmly. "You've been dodging me, running from this inevitable conversation for months now, and I've had it." 

All the fight crawling up my throat died in the hollow pits of my stomach when I met my father's gaze. There was no difference; whether I was a child or an adult, nothing terrified me more than that look in my father's eyes. 

My father rarely ever raised his voice at anyone; his rage was often quiet, and what made it all the more terrifying was knowing that if I made one wrong move, uttered one word that rubbed him the wrong way... then he would explode. He always did. 

"Shénme?" he asked, lifting his brows at me daringly. 'What?' "Are you going to argue with me now?" It wasn't a question, it was a fucking challenge. He'd rip me apart if I tried.