Chapter 2 #2
The next fifty years or so are going to be fucking torture. I think I’d rather have my fingernails pulled out every single day for the rest of my fucking life.
“Come.” I pull the phone out of my pocket and text my driver, telling him he’s taking Natasha home. Then I lead her to the elevator, scooping up her purse on the way.
“I can just get a cab.” I hate how fucking soft and timid her voice is. “I don’t want you to go to any trouble.”
“It’s no trouble.” I press the button for the elevator, and when it opens, I lead her inside and pass her the bag before pressing the button for the underground garage. “Never again, Natasha.”
Her nod is jerky, and I back out so the elevator doors can close. Once she’s out of sight, I spin on my heel and march up the stairs to Elliott’s room.
Not bothering to knock, I shove the door so hard that it hits the wall, startling my son from where he’s sitting by the window, drinking another fucking glass of whiskey.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I roar as I yank the glass from his hand, throw it against the wall, shattering it into a million pieces, and then spin to smack him across the face, making his eyes bulge in shock.
I’ve never hit Elliott once in his life. Not even when he was a child.
“What the fuck, Dad!”
“If you want to hit someone, you hit me, motherfucker.” My face is inches from his, and I’m seething as the anger I’ve kept on a tight leash since I saw him hit that woman finally breaks free. “You will never lay a hand on her in anger again.”
“I’ll do whatever the fuck I want.” His chin juts out in defiance, and he tries to push me back, but I don’t budge. “She’s mine. I own her, thanks to you.”
“She’s a goddamn human being! And here I am, cleaning up your mess again.
I pay your gambling debts, I bail your ass out of jail, and make shit go away for you, and now I have to play nursemaid to your fiancé because you can’t keep your fucking hands to yourself when you’re pissed off?
Fuck that, Elliott. I don’t even recognize you.
Who the hell are you? You’re risking the family, and it’s going to be your fucking demise. ”
“You don’t have to do any of that. I never asked you to. I can clean up my own fucking messes.”
Spittle shoots out of his mouth as he yells at me, and I find my calm once more. I roll my shoulders and adjust the cuff of my shirt, and Elliott’s face falls as he realizes what he just said.
“Great. From now on, you can do just that, Elliott.”
“Dad, I appreciate—”
“You’ll be out of here by tomorrow morning. You no longer live here. And I won’t be paying off any more of your debts. You have a trust fund with plenty of money. I suggest you get control of your fucking addiction to throwing it away, so you don’t end up homeless.”
“Dad, I’m just angry, I—”
“I don’t fucking care.” I’m no longer yelling.
I’m tired. The only way he’s going to learn is if I give him no other choice.
I haven’t done him any favors by continuing to bail him out, and it stops right now.
“I’m not throwing you out of the family, Elliott.
I should, but not yet. However, I’m done paying your way and being your cleaning crew.
Grow the fuck up. You’re going to marry that girl in two weeks, honoring the alliance between our families.
You’re going to take care of her. You will not hurt her, and if I find out that you do, I’ll cut your motherfucking hands off, and you won’t be able to hit anyone ever again. ”
His jaw drops. He knows I’m not joking. Cutting off appendages is one of my favorite pastimes.
“I’ll let my security know to escort you out of here by morning. Pack your shit, Elliott.”
“Where am I supposed to go?”
I turn and lift an eyebrow. “You have contacts all over this city. Use them. Figure it the fuck out, kid. Pull yourself together and use this as the fresh start that it is. Marry the girl, get your act together. You could have a good life, Elliott.”
“Fuck.” He pushes his hand through his hair, and I walk out.
Looks like I’m headed to the mansion tonight after all.
When I get down to the parking garage, my security snaps to attention.
“We’re going home,” I say, and then turn to my driver, surprised that he’s already back. “Did you get her home safely?”
His eyes slide to his colleagues and then back to me. “She, uh, refused the ride, sir.”
I step to him, only inches from his face, and narrow my eyes.
He swallows hard.
“She refused.”
“Yes, boss. We all tried to tell her that you wouldn’t be okay with that. But she said she wanted me to call her a taxi.”
My blood turns to fire as I step closer and tighten his loose tie, seemingly perfectly calm on the outside.
He’s not going to survive this.
“You put a Bratva princess, who didn’t have any guards with her, into a fucking cab?”
I sense the other guys shuffling in fear. I should kill all of them for putting her at risk.
Instead, I’ll make an example out of this one.
“How long have you worked for me, Johnny?”
“Three years, sir.”
“And in those three years, how many times have I told you to take my orders as a suggestion and do whatever you want?”
He swallows hard again, sweating now. I reach into my pocket and close my hand around the switchblade I’ve carried on me since I was fifteen.
“N-never, boss.”
“Never.” I nod slowly and back away from him, and just as he takes a relieved breath, I turn back and plunge my knife in the side of his neck and watch as Johnny collapses to his knees, fighting for air, blood spurting all over my parking garage.
“If any of you even thinks about disobeying one of my orders, this will be a quick death compared to what I’ll do to you. Do you understand?”
“Yes, boss,” they all reply in unison. My eyes roam over them. All six of them are a little green. All stoic. My cousin, Jack, doesn’t flinch.
Nothing makes Jack flinch.
“Have your team take him to the graveyard and pay his wife,” I say to Jack, who is also my head of security. I don’t have a number two. I was waiting for Elliott to pull his head out of his ass so I could groom him for the position.
That’s not going to happen.
I’ll have a meeting with Jack tomorrow. In the meantime, my cousin nods.
“You got it,” he says. “Then I’m heading home to Alysse.”
Jack’s been married for five years and has a two-year-old son that I adore.
“I want to see you in my home office at nine tomorrow morning,” I tell him, and he nods as I climb into the 911.
“I’ll be there, boss.”