Chapter 68
Chapter sixty-eight
Righting Wrongs
Marco
My eyes feel like sandpaper and my head is pounding.
After what felt like an eternity filing a report with the NYPD while Avery took the girls home, me and Sebastian met Avery back at the Vault Enterprises office where we’ve spent hours scouring video footage to find the city worker who visited to complete—and ultimately sabotage—our compliance check.
Once we found a good frame for him, we focused our attention back on footage from the night of Arty’s thirtieth birthday.
Seb and I initially refused to take the booking, but Patrick intervened and insisted we take it or we might find ourselves without further financial backing.
It’s another Patrick special to add to my list of biggest regrets, because the following morning we found an underage college girl passed out, half naked in the alcove in the room.
I offered to take her to the police station or even the hospital to get checked out, but she refused.
She told us she had signed an NDA and was here on a temporary visa, so she was petrified of the legal ramifications.
I drove her home to make sure she got there safely.
And when I went to check on her a few days later, she was already gone.
“There, that’s her,” I say, pointing out a girl wearing a red mini dress, arms linked with another girl. Avery zooms in, and to my surprise, another familiar face catches my attention—wavy auburn hair, big blue eyes, and porcelain skin.
“Fuck! That’s the waitress AJ ran after tonight,” I exclaim. “And I’m pretty sure she works at Joey’s Pizza Parlor too.” My brain has switched gears now. If I have any chance of executing my plan to take Arty down, I need to talk to both girls.
“If she was at the party, she obviously knows Arty somehow,” Seb says, wheels turning. “If her reaction to seeing him was anything to go off, I’d bet my life there’s a story there.”
“I’m going to head out and run all these images through my visual recognition database,” says Avery. “Hopefully, it will give us all the information we need.”
“I owe you, bro,” I say, clapping him on the back. “Thanks for getting Sophia home safely, too.”
“Anytime. She said she was going to bed,” he responds, acknowledging the question I’ve been too afraid to voice before heading out.
I exhale a breath I didn’t realize I had been holding the entire time. She’s still there.
Now it’s just me, Seb, two glasses of top-shelf scotch, and the elephant in the room in the form of the long overdue explanation I owe him.
Seb swirls his scotch in his glass, jaw flexed and eyes glassy from the stress of our night, focused on the one large block of ice in the glass.
I don’t rush to fill the silence. Finally, he meets my gaze and utters just three words that crack open the vault.
“Is it true?”
I don’t need to ask him to clarify. I take a sip of my scotch and nod ruefully. “Where do you want me to start?”
“From the fucking beginning might be good.”
So I go right back to that summer in the Hamptons, the awareness of my true feelings for his sister, the conversation with his dad, and the deal I struck with him so we could have Bella Donna.
Then I lay out every single sidestep, sacrifice, and sin I’ve made to bring us to this very moment here.
My heart is heavy, but I also feel lighter than I’ve been in years.
It’s cathartic to finally share every detail—the good, the bad, and the ugly—with my best friend, the guy I’ve always considered a brother.
“Why didn’t you just tell me what happened with my asshole dad? We would have found another way.”
“I honestly thought I was doing the right thing. I knew how badly you—we—wanted a shot at success. Bella Donna was your way to show him you have a brilliant mind for business. I couldn’t bring myself to take that from you.”
“So instead you gave up a fuck ton then carried the burden in silence for six fucking years?” he says with incredulity. “We’ve always trusted each other enough to share the load of our problems; you should’ve come to me.”
“I just thought why make it harder, when your dad made it sound like a simple solution. I guess I convinced myself it was a little pain for a lot of gain. I just didn’t bank on things necessarily going like this.”
“Fuck, bro. You’re a better man that me.”
His words strike a chord that sets off another round of self-loathing.
The memories of Sophia’s tear-streaked face then and now play behind my eyes like a dual timeline.
Am I really a better man than Patrick, or am I just like him?
Withholding the truth to manipulate outcomes.
Making decisions on behalf of other people I have no business speaking for.
I need to get home. I need Sophia.
Sebastian’s phone vibrates again. “Pocket Rocket” flashes on the screen. There’s only one girl I know by that nickname.
“Bro, is that Evie messaging you at booty call o’clock?” I give him a sly smile.
“She’s probably just checking in to see everything is okay. As a friend,” he emphasizes, his discontent evident.
Hmmm, interesting.
“Sebastian ‘Most Eligible Playboy’ Prinzi friend-zoned? That’s a fucking first.”
“Yeah. Something like that,” he concedes, as he checks his message.
Whatever’s there takes him by surprise, and his lips tip up into a secretive smile.
“Listen, as your best friend, I feel like it’s my duty of care to point out that if you want any chance of becoming my brother for real, you need to get your fucking ass home to Sophia.
” Turning serious, he grabs me and pulls me in for hug and a backslap.
“This shit ends tonight, yeah? We’re in this together or not at all. No more secrets.”
No more secrets. Time for me to be the better man.