End It All (Vitale Brothers #5)

Chapter 6

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. My last 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."

"Where's your mother?" he asked. "She kick you out?"

I bristled at the way he spoke so freely about my mother. She should never even be a subject that left his twisted lips. My mother was a fucking saint, she had done everything she could for us to stay afloat when she had been left with nothing. Hearing that mocking tone in his voice only irritated me more.

"No, she didn't," I bit out.

He grunted. "No need to get your panties in a bunch, son. Clearly, you love her."

Cesare’s thick smoke filled the car. I tried hard to bite my tongue, not to say something stupid. Clearly, he wasn’t a man you should fuck with. I felt it in the way he spoke to Quincy, and how Quincy had backed down. I’d always had a good sense of who you shouldn’t mess with or how far to push a person without going overboard and getting killed. But he rubbed me the wrong way. As the tension built in the car, I resumed bouncing my foot up and down.

"Did you?" I blurted out. “Love her. I mean, you did leave her with a child and nothing else.”

Cesare laughed. When he didn't answer me, my anger won out. Fuck him.

"I’m glad it’s so funny. Yeah, this must be normal for you. Going around, abandoning your kids, and being a deadbeat."

A hand wrapped around my throat and my face slammed against the window. I sucked in a shaky breath.

"Be careful what you say to me," he said, his voice so deep, it rumbled through me. "Whatever I've done in my life, I've had my reasons."

What was your reason for leaving us? What was your excuse for walking away from her?

I swallowed the words that stayed on the edge of my tongue. All of my anger built inside of me, and I forced myself not to flex my hand into a fist. Instead of answering him, I stayed still. Eventually, he pulled away and I was able to sit up straight again.

My father sighed. "My temper isn't what it used to be, Blake."

"Yeah. You never used to do that before," I mumbled as I touched my throat.

"Never." He sighed and shut his eyes. "It's been a rough year, son. I'm sorry. Let’s not talk about Veronica right now.”

My heart skipped a beat. Did he just say he was sorry? I searched his face. When he opened his eyes, I saw the pain in them. Immediately, all of my anger flew right out of the window. As much as he pissed me off, I had always assumed he just didn't care about us. Apparently, he did. He even seemed to care about my mother.

The car pulled to a stop in front of a hotel. We made our way inside, taking the elevator in silence. When we reached the top floor, he let us in and his men stayed in the hall, guarding the door. I stayed close to him, following deeper into the immaculate but sterile place until we reached the kitchen.

"Have you eaten?" he asked.

I nodded absentmindedly. "Yeah, at Silver Dreams. How did you know I was there?" I asked.

"Word gets around when someone uses the Vitale name. At first, I thought you were an imposter, and I was ready to take care of that," he said pointedly as he grabbed a bottle of dark alcohol and started pouring it into two glasses. "Until I saw you and that lighter."

“What if I’m not your son?” I ventured. “I could be lying.”

“You could be.” He shrugged. “But you would be dead quickly if I found out otherwise. And trust me, there will be a DNA test. But that lighter. I’ve never given it to anyone but you.” He paused. “And you still look the same.”

He remembers me?

I rolled the lighter between my fingers, the weight of it was heavy in my pocket. I wanted to throw it out of the window as we rode to the hotel, but after he'd grabbed me like that, I didn't have the nerve anymore. He pushed a glass of liquor across the counter to me and nodded.

"To us reuniting," he said. "Salute!"

"S-Salute," I repeated.

We both took the shot, him more elegantly than I could ever hope to. The liquor burned all the way down to my stomach. I ignored it and looked up to find him staring at me.

"What?" I asked.

"Your Italian is shit," he said. "Veronica didn't teach you?"

"She was too busy working after you left. There was no time."

He frowned. "Yeah."

I tapped my glass. "Another?"

The uneasy atmosphere was so thick, I could choke on it. My father poured us each another shot. When we swallowed these, our eyes met over our glasses and we didn't break eye contact. I finally sat my glass down and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand.

"It's good. What is it?" I asked.

"Vecchia Romagna. A very good brand of Brandy from Italy," he said. "We should go one day."

"Don't you want to take one of your other four sons?"

My father sighed. "How long are you going to hold onto this?"

"At least until tomorrow," I said and poured myself a shot. "You understand."

He chuckled. "You take after me a hell of a lot," he exclaimed. "I've waited years to have a son that I could stomach. Looks like it was you all along. If only your mother didn't hide you from me."

I bristled. What was he talking about? "And why did she feel the need to do that?"

He shrugged. "To hurt me. Why else?"

Yeah, so it was all about him. I wasn't sure how much I trusted a single word out of his mouth. Everything I knew about him had been a lie until my mother gave me a sliver of the truth. Then again, she had only given me a sliver of the truth. What was I supposed to believe?

"Why did you leave in the first place?" I asked, feeling more bold as I drank.

My father sat down. I stared for a minute until I copied him and sat across from him at the island. He shrugged off his jacket and undid the first three buttons of his shirt. Once he was done, he finally looked at me.

"The truth?"

I frowned. "Yes, the truth. I don't want a lie. Spent enough years making up stories about you," I muttered.

He sighed. "Like I said, I'm sorry. My life got more complicated, and I had to leave you all behind. I wanted you both to come, but your mother refused. She didn't agree with my lifestyle."

My frown deepened. "Because you're in the mafia?"

He raised a brow. "I work in a corporation just like any other man in this country. A very strict and loyal organization."

I nodded, understanding that he was never going to admit those words out loud. He probably thought I was an informant or something. I took another shot and bit back the bile that rose in my throat. When it passed, I exhaled and stared at him.

"Did she know who you were from the start?"

"They all do, son," he said. "And yet when it comes time to live in that reality..." He trailed off. "I would have stayed if she didn't want me gone. I loved your mother." He took a shot. "Where is she now?"

Yeah, I wasn't going to tell him that. I didn't give a damn who he was. My mother was safe right where she was. The only thing she might have to deal with now were the cops, but I still didn't know him. Maybe he was telling the truth. Maybe he was feeding me a pack of lies. Either way, I wasn't going to toss my mother to him like a sheep to a wolf.

"She's safe," I said evenly.

My father stared at me before he burst out laughing. "You really are my son," he said. "Smart, cautious, strong. It’s refreshing!" he roared as he poured another shot. "You must stay with me. I'll show you the city, find you some work, and you'll adjust just fine. Clearly, you're running from something. I can help with that too." He paused. "What are you running from?"

I swallowed thickly. "It’s nothing serious.”

Cesare tilted his head, as if he was studying me. “We’re family. If you can’t be honest with me, what makes you think I’m going to help you?”

He had me there. The truth was that I was the one that needed the help, and he was offering it to me. Cesare even seemed… excited. I toyed with my shot glass. I really didn’t have a choice.

“Some things happened," I muttered. "In California. There’s some charges waiting for me and I can’t go to prison. I just need a place to hide out for a while."

"You've come to the right place." He stood up and walked over to me before he slapped a hand onto my shoulder. "Welcome home, son. I know it'll take some time, but you'll trust me eventually. And I'll trust you."

Would I? I wanted to believe that, but everything about my father was a mystery. I trusted my mother, but were there two sides to the story? I didn't know. There were no concrete answers. Instead of diving deeper into it, I simply drank.

"I have a place to stay already," I said.

My father stiffened. "Oh?"

"Yeah. A friend of mine, the guy from earlier."

"Quincy?" he asked incredulously. "You can't be serious. He's a nobody. How do you even know him?"

I didn't, but I wasn't sure I could stay with my father either. He was a man who had way too many secrets and I doubted he was going to come clean about anything anytime soon. I couldn't stand Quincy, but if my father gave me work, I would be able to find a way to get my own place sooner rather than later. All while not living with him.

Even if the words he said made sense, I still didn't trust him.

I didn't know him. Not anymore.

My father stood up and I expected him to be irate. Instead, he poured one more set of shots. "You'll sleep here tonight and go back tomorrow, then. It's late."

I took my glass and nodded. His words weren't a question, they were a demand. If I denied him, who knew how he would react. Instead, I clicked my glass against his, gave him a salute, and threw the shot back. By now, I was buzzing, my vision blurry as I stood up and used the counter to help me keep my balance.

"Do you want me here?" I blurted out. "Like here, with you. If not, I can go."

He grinned and then burst out laughing. "So strong and yet so insecure." He spoke some Italian that I couldn't comprehend. "Of course I want you here. Having a family of my own that I love and who loves me has been all I've ever wanted. You're going to give that to me, I can tell." He slapped my shoulder once more, harder this time so that it stung. "I'm glad you're back in my life."

I stared at him. My father was different than anything I could have imagined. In my mind, I had built him up to be some kind of villain when it turned out he was nothing like that.

Maybe I had gotten it wrong after all these years.

"You can use the guest room for now," he said as he turned on his heels. "If you want something to eat, feel free to come out and take whatever you want. There's plenty."

"Oh. Thank you." I dug into my pocket and pulled out his lighter. "You want this back?"

He looked down and then back up at me. "No, I gave that to you." He closed my hand around it. "I wanted you to have it back then and I want you to have it now." He smiled at me. "Let's turn in."

"O-okay, um..."

"You can still call me dad. You used to."

The thought of calling him dad made my stomach turn. I smiled at him, but it felt awkward and stiff even to me. I wasn't ready to treat him as anything other than a stranger for now. He'd left and abandoned us. How was I supposed to forget that so easily?

I was shown to a room that felt as sterile as the rest of the hotel suite. Dark floors, white walls, white bedding. It was enough to make someone go insane. I dropped my bag on the floor and turned to my father who still stood in the doorway, staring at me.

"Goodnight," I said. "Thanks for picking me up."

"Anytime. I'll see you in the morning."

"Yeah. Sounds good."

The door closed after he left, and I stared around the room. As I sat on the bed, the unfamiliarity clogged my throat. I wanted to scratch at the walls and get the hell out of there. Instead, I was left in the overwhelming silence. I reached into my bag, lit up a joint, and stared at the ugly hotel art on the wall.

I needed to get out of here. As long as I kept my cool, I could do that. I just had to keep calm.

Three days. It was three days and my father still didn't want to let me go. He'd introduced me as his son to his men which made them fear me in a way that I had never experienced. Everything I could have possibly wanted was given to me. The world was right there for me to grasp.

But I couldn't shake the uneasy feeling that permeated my gut.

I got dressed in a new set of clothes that my father had purchased for me. He said all of mine were shit, but I refused to get rid of them. Still, it made him happy when I dressed like him, so I slipped on the button up, slacks, and dress shoes. I fixed my hair in the mirror, pushing it back from my face.

God, I look like a gangster.

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.