Chapter 23 Cesare
Blake: We need to meet up. Now.
Blake: Pizza parlor.
I stared at the series of texts with a raised brow. Was the boy really pushing me to meet him? Ordering me around? That was bold. I grinned. Shit, he was seriously a Vitale. I put my phone down as Rafael hopped away from the stove.
“Ow!” he exclaimed. “Your sauce popped me!”
“Then stop making it angry and go sit the fuck down,” I said, nodding off to the side. “Get out of my kitchen. I’m cooking.”
He huffed. “You know, most people would love me being right next to them.”
“Go call one and tell them to fill my space so I don’t have to deal with you,” I muttered as I kept cooking. “It’s almost done,” I added as I grabbed a plate.
“What are you even making? I saw fish.”
“It’s puttanesca,” I said. “Anchovies are for flavor.”
Rafael groaned. “You’re just trying to poison me.”
“Not yet,” I muttered.
“Sometimes I can’t tell when you’re joking, Cesare,” he said. “You know, someday you’re going to have to distinguish between when you’re telling the truth and screwing with me.”
I grinned. “Now why would I do that? When you look that confused, you’re almost attractive.”
I stepped out of the way as one of the dry towels sailed by my head.
Reaching out, I snatched it off the oven and turned, throwing it back at him.
Rafael was glaring at me like he wanted to put a hole through my head.
I turned back around, letting him stew while I grinned.
He deserved every minute of torment for his little joke.
Goddamn restaurant. He was insane. When I plated up the food, I carried it over and sat it in front of him.
“Here,” I presented him with a fork. “Eat.” He took it from me and kept glaring. “If you’re waiting for an apology, you’re gonna be sitting there forever. I don’t do apologies.”
Rafael took the fork. “You’re such a jerk.”
“Yep. Now eat.”
I straightened up and crossed my arms over my chest. Rafael pushed the noodles around for a minute before he finally brought some food to his lips. I waited, my foot tapping impatiently as he took a tentative bite. His eyes lit up.
“Oh, oh. Eu faria sexo oral em você só por causa desse molho.” I would perform oral sex on you just because of that sauce.
“I heard oral sex.” I grinned. “You like it that much you’re willing to get on your knees?” He started moving toward the floor. I blinked. “What the hell is wrong with you? Get up and finish that food. It’s gonna get cold.”
Seriously, there was something wrong with him. I watched as he shrugged, got back into his seat, and started tearing into the puttanesca like it was going to disappear. I turned and grabbed a wine glass, pouring him a deep red before I sat it next to his plate.
“Where’s your plate?” he asked.
“I have some business to take care of. You enjoy. I’ll be back in a little while.”
“Where are you going?”
“Since when do you ask that?” I stopped mid-motion as I shrugged on my jacket.
Rafael shrugged and looked at his plate, pushing the pasta around now. “I don’t know.”
“Well, stop poutin’,” I said, my chest doing a thing I couldn’t actually comprehend. “You sittin’ over there lookin’ like someone kicked your damn puppy. Pick your face up. You got a whole kitten to play with while I’m gone.”
“I hate that thing.”
“Liar,” I said. “I caught you petting him this morning.”
“No you didn’t!”
I snorted, grabbed a handful of his hair, and dragged him closer. “Stop it. I’ll be right back. You stay here, be good. I’ll take you out tonight."
Rafael tried to feign disinterest, but there was a glint in his eyes. He played it off and moved around the food on his plate before he looked up at me.
“Yeah? Like out, out?”
“Out, out,” I said, feeling stupid for even saying it like that. “A club. You get dressed up, and we’ll go.”
“Fine,” Rafael sighed. “I guess I can drag myself out of the house for that.”
“Oh ho, look at Mr. Charity dragging himself out for me. Thank you so much for that.”
“You’re welcome.” He grinned.
“I’m gonna drown you in a tub. Eat your food.” I bit his neck and let him go finally. “Be good.”
“I’ll try,” Rafael said as he sat down and started eating again.
Shaking my head, I left him to his meal as I slipped out of the penthouse. Part of me wanted to stay, to watch him take every single bite. And then when he was full and happy, to put him on his knees and press his face into my crotch. I shivered.
Fuck.
Pulling up to the pizza parlor, I climbed out and looked around.
The street was as calm as a New York street could possibly be.
My eyes went both ways as I made sure there was no one around.
Convinced I wasn’t being watched, that one of my sons wasn’t planning something stupid, I slipped into the restaurant.
The smell of pizza dough and sauce filled the air, the sharp tang of garlic clinging to the atmosphere.
I pushed through the place, looking for Blake.
My eyes landed on him in the back right booth near the window.
His head was down. As I walked closer, I saw his phone in his hands, the silver of his rings glinting in the late afternoon sunlight, and his dark hair spiky in a way that said he hadn’t tried that hard but obviously did. I slid into the booth across from him.
“Dad,” he said, putting his phone down quickly, the screen on the semi-clean table cutting off my view of it.
I blinked at him before I answered. “Son.” I ordered a glass of water. When it arrived, I took a drink and looked at him over the rim of my cup.
He looked… wary. As if he were staring at me for the first time and couldn’t decide if I was friend or foe.
That was interesting. Ever since I’d started getting to know my long lost youngest son, he had always been the type to try to get to know me better.
While everyone else left me alone, he was right there under me, asking questions, trying to get closer.
Now, his expression was shuttered, and his teeth worried his bottom lip as he looked at the table, to me, and then back again on an endless loop.
I took a moment to scan the shop and the world outside of the pizzeria’s window. People milled around in dark coats, their heads held down, hands in their pockets. I searched each of them before my gaze swept over the patrons in the restaurant. When no one caught my eye, I looked at Blake again.
“You came all this way not to say anything?” I asked.
He glanced at me and frowned. “You already know what I’m going to say,” he snapped. “Why the fuck would you take shit that far? I mean, Jesus, Dad. Do you really want to take Benito’s place that badly?”
I stared at him, my eyes narrowing at the sharp-edged tone of his voice.
At the directness. Usually Blake laughed or joked or was sarcastic.
This was different. My hand tightened around my water glass.
I didn’t know why he was making such a big deal.
So what if York was suspended. He’d attacked my wallet, so I attacked his.
That was simple strategy. And I could have done so much worse.
Why didn’t you?
I waved that thought away, trying not to think about the fact that any other man would have caught so much worse.
A bullet, a fire, a faulty brake line. I’d shown some stupid semblance of mercy.
Would that bite me in the ass later? Maybe.
Or maybe I was simply trying to keep things calm enough not to start a war.
Maybe going lighter was a conscious choice to stop escalation.
Or at least that’s what I told myself.
“What’s going on between me and your brother is between us, Blake.
You need to stop involving yourself in things that don’t include you.
Your older brother is a big boy. He knew what he was doing from the start.
Now, if he wants to stop all of this”—I waved a hand around—“ugliness then we can have a conversation. Just me and him together. No one else.”
Blake scoffed. “You really think he’s going to trust being alone in a room with you again?
” He shook his head. “Even I wouldn’t trust you right now, but I’m still here trying to make you come to your sense and fucking stop this bullshit.
I don’t care what you have to do. Put on the get along shirt, smoke a blunt together, talk.
But something has to be done, and I’ll be damned if I watch my family fall apart the minute I get them! ”
For a long moment, I stared at him. This wasn’t the naive, bright-eyed, smart-mouthed Blake from before. No, this was him breaking in ways I would never understand. Over a damn suspension for someone he knew. Not a brother, just some guy he knew. What the hell was his problem?
“If you keep talking to me that way? I’ll have more than a few words for that little… bastard you’ve been shacking up with.”
Blake stiffened. “My husband,” he snapped. “He’s my husband.” Blake glared at me. “What the fuck is your problem?”
“I have none,” I said quickly. “The problem is that you expect me to be someone you remember from your childhood. You’ve remembered wrong.
I’m nothing like that image in your head.
The sooner you realize that, the sooner you’ll stop trying to play at being my son and go back to being a subordinate like your brothers are. ”
Blake stared at me. For a moment, genuine hurt flashed in his eyes. My stomach tightened, but I kept my hands laced together in front of me, refusing to be weak when no one needed that. Blake searched my face before he finally looked away.
“You really hate your kids that much?”
A sharp jolt shot through me. “Hate?” I asked.
“You think this is hate? I could show all of you hate, but I don’t.
I have taken care of my sons. I have taught my sons.
I have made sure they thrived, and you call that hate?
” I asked. “You’re free to think what you want.
I don’t have to explain myself to anyone. ”
“At some point you have to answer for your actions,” Blake said, his eyes watering. “You can’t just—”
“I can do whatever the fuck I want,” I snapped.
“You’d do well to remember that before reality smacks you in the face again.
” I stood up and buttoned my jacket before I smoothed it down.
“Go home, Blake. Stop trying to play gangster when you still cry from conversations. You’re not ready for this game. ”
Blake glared up at me. “It’s not a game. What you’re doing? I’m done. I’m fucking done.”
Did he think that was new to me? It wasn’t.
Everyone was eventually done with me. It was the way shit went.
I stared down at him and stayed still. Coddling him would do nothing, would simply open him up to more danger.
More problems. This wasn’t an easy way of life, and soothing hurt egos only ended with someone dead.
“Good,” I said. “We can stop pretending I’m Dad of the Year and you’re the prodigal son.” My throat tightened. “Go home. Let your boyfriend play gangster. Find yourself something else to do.”
“Husband,” Blake said.
“Whatever you call it.”
I tossed cash on the table. “Go. Home.”
Turning on my heels, I walked out of the pizzeria swiftly. Clearly Benito had sent Blake to tug at my heartstrings. The only problem was that I didn’t have a heart. It was better he recognized that now than later. It would save him a lot of wasted tears.