Page 23 of End It All

"Aww, leaving already, sweetie?"

"Yeah. Looks like I have to go."

"Well, you come on back whenever you want," she said. "Hey Quincy." She giggled.

"Hey."

I looked from him to her. It wasn't hard to see they knew each other. Personally. Rolling my eyes, I headed for the front door. As soon as I stepped into the entryway, men filled both sides of the room, and another one walked in through the front door. He glanced around before his gaze settled on me.

"Blake, I've been waiting for you."

I swallowed hard. The man I had admired as a child, the one I learned to hate, and the one I now realized everyone else feared, stood right in front of me.

"You have my lighter?"

I dug into my pocket, fished it out, and held it in the palm of my hand.

He looked from my hand up to my face. "Ah, so you are my son after all. You've grown up. Follow me."

I started to follow him with Quincy by my side. When we stepped outside, the cool air stung my skin. My ratty little hoodie wasn't protecting me from shit. My father turned around and froze.

"You can go," he said to Quincy.

"My job is to stay with him. Benito?—"

"Benito is my son. Do you think he has any say over what I do?" he asked. "Get lost. Blake, get in," he said as he nodded toward the backseat of a car that one of his men had opened for me.

“Mr. Vitale, with all due respect, I have a job to do. You can take it up with Benito later.”

Cesare looked him up and down. “I’m not in the mood for this shit tonight. Keep talking and I’ll have your tongue taken out.”

My stomach twisted. The way they looked at each other, it felt as if one of them would snap and kill the other right in front of me. Quincy moved closer to me and opened his mouth.

I swallowed hard and glanced at Quincy. "It’s cool. Later," I muttered.

He stared, finally taking a step back hesitantly. "Be careful," he whispered under his breath. "Trust me."

How could I trust him? How could I trust any of them?

The car felt impossibly tight.My leg bounced against my father's and I quickly snatched it away. He'd lit up a cigar and the thick smoke of it threatened to choke me. When I glanced at the lighter he used to smoke it, it was identical to the one I had. As if it was just a copy. One of many.

Apparently, he treated his lighters like he treated his sons.

My stomach squeezed so tightly, it made me regret the steak I’d scarfed down. It felt like I would be sick. The sound of my father chuckling made me look at him once more.

"Don't be so twitchy," he chided. "I'm not going to eat you."

I let out a chuckle that sounded strangled. What was I supposed to say to that? Besides just threatening to have a man’s tongue taken out, I hadn't seen the man since I was a kid. Mylast memory of him was the day he walked away. How could I say anything to him?

"I guess you came here because you're pissed at me. How much do you want?"

"What?" I asked.

"Money," he grunted. "How much to make you happy?"

I pulled a face without meaning to, but the question itself pissed me the hell off. How could he treat me like I was some money grubbing asshole when he was the one that had left us broken and poor without him? I shoved a hand between my thighs and squeezed it. That was better than punching him in the face.

"Yeah, I wasn't really after money," I said. "Although, it's money. That always helps. Right now, I need someplace to go."