Page 93 of End It All

I wonder if he's okay? Those Russians were fucking with him. And his boss... What if he's...

The word dead rang in my ears and my guts twisted. I felt the wave of nausea break over me. Instead of letting it consume me, I snagged the glass that held my vodka in it and tossed it back. As it slid down my throat, I panted, trying to shake the feeling that had suddenly come over me. I choked on the vodka a bit and itstuck and stung. A heavy hand pounded against my back until I stopped coughing.

"You sure you're my kid? I've never seen a Vitale not be able to hold his own."

"Not a Vitale, remember?" I asked.

He frowned. "Maybe in name only, but you've still got my blood. So you are now and will always fucking be a Vitale. Do you get that?"

I stared at him, unsure of how much to believe. The way he spoke made it feel as if I had a home again. I had felt that way with Benito and the rest of the brothers too. Bit by bit, they accepted me. Except every time Quincy's words came rushing back, reminding me that I didn't know shit. How was I supposed to be sure that they even wanted me around? It was easy to fake that kind of shit, I'd been on the receiving end of hollow affection and friendship since I was a child. How was I supposed to be able to tell if they were any different?

"I guess."

He grabbed a fistful of my shirt and yanked me toward him. "Don't piss me off, Blake."

I stared at him. "No one ever lives long when they do that, huh?"

Cesare let go of me, and I laughed. Maybe taking that last shot was a bad idea. I leaned against the couch and reached for another.

"You don't know the first thing about me," he said.

I shrugged. "What's there to know? Listen, I'm not trying to make you father of the year or even make you like me anymore. If you wanted to be part of my life, you would have found a way."

He stormed toward me. "I did, you ungrateful brat. You think I didn't find your mother in three days? Did you really think she snuck away with you? I knew exactly where she was. And it tookeverything in me not to put a bullet in her head and steal you away."

My entire body tightened. I stared at him. "What the fuck did you say?"

"You heard me."

I swallowed hard. "So why didn't you?" I spat.

Cesare glared. His eyes darted around, but there was no one at our table, not now. The girls he'd had hanging all over him a minute ago were out on the dance floor, grinding on each other, probably trying to catch his eye for the night. I didn't swing that way, and I wasn't interested. He'd suggested I look at some of the guys then, but that did nothing for me either.

None of them would moan for me like Quincy did.

"Why didn't you?" I asked again.

"I didn't... hate your mother. And you ran out of that nasty apartment, clinging to her skirt. I knew you would be all fucked up in the head without her."

I stared at him while he continued to try not to make eye contact. Slowly, the wheels in my head started turning after another minute or two. I blinked at my father.

"What are you trying to say? You still loved her? Or you were worried about me?"

He wavered on his feet and I knew he'd had one too many as well. "Maybe both," he grumbled. "But love ain't real. I've told you that. Think about your money, your empire. Your legacy. That's all you'll have in the end when they're lowering you down in a box." When I stared at him, he waved a hand. "You're a miserable drunk, you know that?"

"Learned from the best."

"Watch it," Cesare growled. "I've got a lifetime of disciplining you can receive if you want to keep crossing the line."

I clamped my mouth shut before I simply nodded. He turned around on his heels, heading to the women who were way tooyoung to be with him. They couldn't be anymore than twenty-five. I shook my head before I tried to contemplate what his words had meant.

Did he really give a fuck about my mom? About me? Yeah, it was years ago, but it felt like... it mattered. I didn't know why it mattered, but it did.

And I hated that.

I didn't want Cesare Vitale to matter to me. I didn't want anyone to matter to me. The more I kept people locked outside, the safer I was always going to be. No one could hurt me if they couldn't reach me in the first place.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. I slipped it out, staring at the name on the screen. For half a second, I thought it would say Bottom, the name I had saved in my phone for Quincy. Instead, it said Benito. I stared at it for what felt like ages, my finger hovering above the answer key. I glanced up at where my father had his face buried in one of the women's necks before I hit answer.