“Good morning,Cattivella. I’m assuming you got my present?”
I ignore the nickname. It only further enflames the memories I have with my father.
“And it’s going straight into the fucking trash. Are you fucked in the head or something? What part of privacy don’t you understand? You had no right to do something like this.” The more I talk, the angrier I become. I don’t even know what I’m saying, but when I hear him laugh,I lose my fucking mind.
All this asshole does is wind people up, and I’m eating right out of his fucking palm.
Bang!
A gunshot rings through the phone and stops me in my tracks.
My stomach sinks with dread. “Dante?"
I hear a grunt and then heavy breathing. “I told you not yet, for fuck's sake.” Dante curses, and I hear an insincere apology from another man. What the fuck is happening?
“I understand, sweetheart. I’m glad you like your present. I’m a little busy right now. Don’t wait up for me tonight, I might be later than usual.”
Then he hangs up.
My eyes widen as I stare down at the phone. I call him again. And then again. He doesn't answer.
“Are you fucking kidding me? Fucking doctor, my ass!” I throw my phone across the room, and when it shatters into pieces and Borris flinches away, I immediately regret it.
“I’m sorry, little guy,” I coo as I go over to scoop him up into a hug. I hate the tears that have the nerve to stream down my face. Because I can’t keep this raging monster away, she’s unpredictable, hateful, a tsunami of emotions I can’t control, and I’m so exhausted from fighting.
It’s not even about Dante. It’s about losing this battle with myself.
Maybe this is truly what I deserve. Maybe this is what Lorraine left behind for me—a life coated in madness caused by grief.
Grief doesn’t even begin to describe the vulgar truth of my beast. It’s a roller coaster of pain, anger, and constant torment. The moment I allow myself to breathe, it comes back stronger, punishing me forever thinking it was okay to step away from its clutches.
But I’m not the only despicable person living under this roof right now. I look back toward the leather jacket. The man I’m living with is certainly not a doctor.
I’m hellbent on calling him out on his lie.
I promised myself I wouldn’t show an interest in him, but right now it feels like my only lifeline from drawing this insufferable pain in on myself. If I look outward, I can focus on his shortcomings, instead of delving deeper into my own despair, because it’s not so easy for me to run away from it anymore. I’m being given no choice but to wade through the emotions I’m doing everything I can to shove down and run away from. And the tactics that once helped me get through each day are no longer working.
So I make up my mind. I’ll expose Dante for the ugliness he is—his lies and secrets—to avoid looking further into my own.
15
DANTE
Romi thinks I haven’t noticed her following me, which I find adorable. I’ve been so busy with work these last few days that we’ve barely crossed paths—until now, when the little rabbit has dared to follow me into a hole.
Finally, we got a tip about one of The Lion's remaining followers who went into hiding after his death. One of our business partners was approached by this man to conduct business with him, but he smartly remained loyal to the Armanis.
It would appear that after The Lion's death, this guy has started a small side hustle of independently dealing weapons—a big fucking no-no on our turf—instead of returning to Russia. It brings me great satisfaction to find the culprit. The last guy we caught, Tyson shot dead before we could get any answers from him, so this is a wonderful change of direction.
Even with the long hoodie and her face covered, I’d recognize those thick boots and legs in a room full of people. I could catch her now and have her fess up to this little ruse, but I’m flattered that she’s interested in me, though she won’t care to admit it.
The closer she gets, the more she might come to regret it, but it’s not like I dragged her to this restaurant. So, I go about my business, walking inside where it smells like cigarettes, and immediately identify the man sitting at the bar. I take the seat beside him.
“What the fuck, pal? There are literally so many other chairs here. Fuck off,” the guy says.
In my periphery, I see Romi take a seat at the end of the bar, taking glances at me through thick eyelashes.
I ignore the man as the bartender asks me what I’d like to drink.
