“When you came to be in charge, you were eighteen?” she pried, probably unable to help it. The girl was too damn curious. Curiosity got you killed in my work. Just another reason for me to lock her up away from me, away from the family, in Chase’s arms. Holy shit. I was going to shoot the guy if he as much as sneezed within three feet of her.
I cleared my throat. “Yup. Father wasn’t doing well. He wasn’t able to make good decisions. He developed pneumonia and was never the same after that. Always out of breath and whatnot. So I took over some of the operations, and then more and more, until I was running everything while he stayed at home and drank whiskey.”
Trace winced.
“At any rate, that’s done with now.” My hand clenched on her arm then released. I still remembered pulling the trigger, was haunted by it even though he was an absolute monster…
“You are nothing!” Father spat, “Anthony, get him out of my sight.”
“No,” I said in a cold tone. “He doesn’t answer to you.”
“And he answers to you?” Father threw his head back and laughed then began coughing so hard he nearly fell out of his seat. “I needed a good laugh today.”
“Funny.” I reached into my pocket and pulled out the Glock. “So did I.”
“Nixon…” Father’s eyes narrowed. “What the hell are you doing?”
“My job,” I spat. “You should know. You groomed me. You made me what I am. You created me… you did this.” The gun shook as I held it out and pointed at his head. “Any last words?”
Father didn’t flinch, simply looked around the room as the three men with us hung their heads, turned around, and left.
“So…” He nodded. “…this is it then.”
“It is.” I bit down hard on my lip... requiring the distraction of the pain to remind me that I needed to do what I was doing. “So?”
Father stood, shaky on his knees, and tumbled toward me, his knife high and raised. He sliced across my lower lip, cutting me deep, before falling onto his knees with a curse.
“And the purpose of that?” I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand.
“To prove a point, son.” Father didn’t turn; instead, he hung his head as if he was praying. “You will always be marked by me, always controlled. When you look in the mirror at that pretty face, I want you to see that mark on your lip, that mark on your face, and remember. You’re. Just. Like. Me.”
I moved behind him and held the gun to his head as he lifted his hands into the air. “May God have mercy on your soul.”
I pulled the trigger, and he fell to a heap in front of me.
The wound wasn’t fatal, but it had caused a divide between us that was bigger than before — wider, bigger. The trust that should have been present was replaced with rage, hatred, anger.
A week later I got my lip pierced. Not to be disrespectful, as Chase always teased, but because it covered what he had done. What he was still doing, charring me from the inside out. When I looked in the mirror, I saw him. Because of that scar, I saw him.
“I’m sorry, Trace,” I whispered, bringing myself back to the present as I ran my fingers through her silky hair. I was apologizing for what I couldn’t say. For what I was about to do. Killing her would be a kindness. I knew firsthand what the pain of a broken heart felt like when she’d been ripped from me the first time. I didn’t wish that type of pain on my worst enemy.
“For what?”
“Not telling you the truth. I knew the day we went shopping, and then, when you took out all that money? Damn, I knew for sure then. I had Anthony do a background check on you. Apparently, Tracey Rooks doesn’t exist. So I went through all the Traceys in our school, and there you were — Tracey Alfero, eighteen years old, granddaughter of the second most powerful Mafia boss in all of Chicago. The same Mafia boss that still blames us for his son’s death.”
“You forget. Technically I have De Lange blood in me, too,” she muttered.
“Right. Which means I really should have killed Phoenix.” I itched to end that bastard’s life. I scowled and pulled myself away from Trace, getting to my feet. “He can’t ever find out who you are. If he does… Trace, he’s dangerous, seriously.”
She had no idea how dangerous. I’d been watching him closely. He wasn’t eating, or sleeping, and all he did was drink. He was losing his touch with reality, and every single time he glanced in Trace’s direction, it was with utter hatred.
“We’ve been keeping tabs on him. He’s lost his freaking mind. He’s next in line after his father dies, and his father’s more insane than he is. I have no doubt that family is into some shady business.”