That evening, after Cade tended his wound, he finally came to see me.
“Phoebe,” he said, “since you know the truth now, I won’t hide it any longer. If you behave and give birth to this child, I’ll have your legs fixed and let you go.”
He then tossed a check amounting to fifty million onto the table. “This is your payment.” His eyes scanned me like I was nothing more than an object. “Women like you, easy and loose, could sleep with models for the rest of your life.”
I laughed coldly from my wheelchair. “And if I refuse?”
“Cade,” I shot back, “why should I accept terms you set? Remember who’s carrying something right now. You should be begging me. If anyone draws up terms, it should be me.”
But he barely took me seriously. He simply scoffed and turned to leave.
That was when I let him have it. “Cade,” I said, calm as a knife, “you’re a mafia boss and you’ve had an eye stabbed out. How can you still be so naïve?”
Finally, he froze and spun to look at me. “What do you mean?”
I clapped slowly and pointed toward the construction crane not far from the villa. “You hide that girl so carefully because you’re scared someone will find her, right?”