Page 27 of End It All

My mother would probably have a fit if she saw me like this. For as long as I could remember, she was always on my ass not to look like that. To be different. Now, I knew why.

"You're still walking around here looking lost," my father called as I wandered into the kitchen. "Are you ready for work?"

"I still don't know what I'm supposed to do," I admitted.

"You'll be out of the way," he said. "A bartender for now. As long as you look out and gather information, that's all we need you to do. Here." He opened a drawer and slapped a stack of cash on the counter. "Since you're lying low, use this as an advance. If you need anything, I want you to call me. Take this."

He gave me a cell phone. I took it and examined it. The thing looked like your average iPhone, but I was still tentative about it. I still had my burner, but I knew it would be rude if I refused it.

"Thank you," I said. "I appreciate it."

My father beamed at me. "You're welcome. I have to say, your mother raised you right. You're easily the most polite of my sons." There was a knock on the door, and I froze as it was opened. Benito, my oldest brother, apparently, walked in looking cool and composed. "Speak of one of the devil's," he said. "Take him to my bar and set him up."

Benito frowned. "Yeah, sure. Why not?" he said. "Come on. Get your things."

My father held up a hand. "He'll be coming back here."

Benito's gaze narrowed. "Do you really think he wants to stay in some hotel with a random old man?"

"He doesn't have a choice," my father bit back. "You can show him the ropes for a few days, but you won't be keeping my son. Got it?"

Benito paused, something flickering in his eyes before he nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Glad we understand each other." He turned to me. "Come back whenever you want. I'll have your things cleaned and put away for you."

"Thank you."

My father pulled me into a hug, and I didn't think it was smart to pull away. Instead, his hand slapped against my back and I mimicked it. By the time we pulled apart, he was beaming. He pretended to slug me on the chin.

"Make me proud, son."

"I'll do my best."

Benito left and I followed him. The moment we stepped into the elevator, I could breathe for some reason. Maybe it was because my father was a lot. We stepped out on the ground floor and walked out to the waiting car. Once we were alone, Benito turned to me.

"If you think he loves you, you're a fucking moron."

My heart squeezed in my chest. I glanced at Benito and he stared back at me. What the hell was I supposed to say to that? Yeah, I was pretty sure the old man was just trying to get me to like him for some reason, but I didn’t understand why. Still, I didn’t comment on it.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"To his bar, the Red Dawn. You said you'd be a bartender and that's what you'll do."

I stiffened. "What if I don't want to?"

"Nobody tells Cesare Vitale no. Especially once you take his money."

I swallowed my nausea. I knew I should have tossed the cash, but I didn't have a choice. My mother needed money. I needed money. How the hell was I supposed to turn that down?

"I don't want to go back there," I muttered.

"Good luck," Benito said. "I told you to sit tight with Quincy and you didn't listen. These are the consequences to your actions."

Yeah, I didn't need to be told that. I was living it right now. Working for my father was an inevitability. But now, I wasn't so turned off by the thought of living with Quincy.

I had to get away from Cesare. I needed time to breathe.

Hell wasmy current living status. Daiki was on my ass for missing the little meeting he had planned with the Russians, and Benito wasn't making shit easy. Blake walking out on me wasn't my fault and had everything to do with the idiot scaling walls and running to the brothel. People talked, and the moment he shouted his name, the city was whispering about another Vitale brother appearing. He practically drew a target on his back. Blake wasn't established like the others. Every single one of his brothers had a reputation; he was an unknown which made him a target.