Chapter Twenty Nine, Complications
The bed creaked softly as I flopped onto it, staring up at the ceiling.
The cracks in the plaster formed jagged little patterns, and I traced them with my eyes.
Anything to keep my mind occupied from the boredom as we waited for Danika to finish debating her options for the next round of whatever bullshit game she wanted to play.
Atlas paced relentlessly by the window; the soft rhythm of his footsteps grated on my nerves. He didn’t stop, not even when the old floorboards beneath his boots groaned in protest. His shoulders were tense, his jaw tight, his every movement a barely restrained coil of energy.
I envied him. At least pacing gave him something to do.
“I don’t know how you’re not driving yourself insane by lying there,” he muttered without looking at me, his voice sharp as broken glass.
“I’m Italian,” I replied, tone dry. “We’ve mastered the art of lying around, looking good, and waiting for the world to implode around us.”
He glanced over, a ghost of a smile flickering across his face. Then he turned back to the window, his fingers flexing at his sides.
I stayed where I was, staring at the ceiling, letting the silence stretch. Being bored was better than being worried. Better than letting my thoughts go to places they shouldn’t. But lying there motionless meant my brain had room to wander, anyway.
My father’s face floated into my mind, hard and cold as the marble statues he admired so much that sat in the De Luca mansion’s hallway. I clenched my jaw, the ceiling cracks blurring as anger burned through me.
I should have killed him years ago.
It was a thought that had been circling in my head since the day I’d found out he’d had Missy killed.
Probably since the day Heather broke down, shaking and screaming and filled with so much pain that I swore I’d do anything to stop it.
I should’ve been the one to put a bullet between his eyes and end it all.
But I hadn’t.
Because I was a coward.
I hated that part of me, the one that let him loom over my life like a storm cloud, his shadow touching everything I cared about. He was a tyrant, a bully, a man so obsessed with power that he didn’t care who he hurt to keep it.
And yet, he was still my father.
The ceiling cracked in my vision, a jagged fissure splitting the white plaster into fragments, like my thoughts.
“You’re quiet,” Atlas said, breaking the silence.
I blinked, focusing on his voice. He’d stopped pacing and was now leaning against the wall, arms crossed, his gaze fixed on me.
“Thinking,” I muttered, shifting to prop myself up on my elbows.
“Dangerous for you,” he replied.
“Ha,” I deadpanned, but the corner of my mouth twitched upward.
Atlas tilted his head, studying me. “Thinking about what?”
I hesitated before answering. “My father.”
Atlas let out a low hum, his eyes narrowing slightly. “He’ll pay for everything, Gio. You know that, right? I can’t keep trying to ruin his life. I’m going to kill him.”
“I know,” I said quietly, but the weight in my chest didn’t lift. “I should have let you kill him right away. This is all my fault—perhaps I am a coward. Or perhaps a part of me still… still thinks he was my father. And I didn’t want to be the sort of man who murdered his father.”
The room fell silent again, save for the faint creak of the bed as I shifted onto my back once more. The ceiling hadn’t changed, still fractured and broken, a reflection of everything I felt inside.
I really should have killed him. Years ago. Before Missy. Before Heather. Before any of this.
But I hadn’t. And now, we were here, locked in this room, waiting for Danika to decide whether we lived or died.
The bed creaked again as Atlas came over and sat on the edge, his presence grounding me slightly. He didn’t say anything, just sat there, his hand resting near mine on the mattress.
“Do you think she’ll let us go, or kill us?” I asked after a long pause.
Atlas’s jaw tightened, his gaze hardening. “She’ll do what benefits her most. Always has. I think she’ll let us go, but she’s going to drag it out just to be infuriating and piss me off.”
“And if helping us doesn’t benefit her? Would she kill us then?”
His hand curled into a fist. “Honestly? I don’t know. She’s clearly pissed that she wasn’t part of my escape. But I don’t know what she thinks. I’ve been away from her long enough that I can’t… I can’t read her like I used to.”
I nodded, a spark of determination igniting in my chest as I shut my eyes and remembered the first time I should have murdered my father.
The study reeked of cigar smoke and bourbon, the scent heavy enough to choke me as I stood there, fists clenched at my sides.
The fire crackled in the hearth, casting flickering shadows over the room’s grotesque decorations—mounted deer heads with glassy eyes, and a fur rug stretched out like a predator lounging at my feet.
Giorgio sat behind his massive oak desk, swirling the glass in his hand, his golden ring catching the firelight with every movement. That ring. I hated that ring.
“Explain yourself,” he said, his voice cold and sharp as the edge of a blade.
I opened my mouth; the words burning to come out, but he was already moving.
The glass slammed onto the desk as he rose, his towering frame casting a long shadow across the room.
His words came slowly. “Do you think you’re untouchable because you’re my son?”
“I didn’t—” I started, but the sound of his fist hitting the desk silenced me.
“You didn’t think,” he hissed, rounding the desk in two strides.
Before I could blink, my cheek was slammed into the corner of my father’s mahogany desk, the sharp edge biting into my skin. Blood trickled down my jaw, warm and sticky, as the sharp sting radiated outward. My vision blurred for a moment, but I didn’t flinch. Flinching only made it worse.
“Look at me!” his voice thundered, bouncing off the polished wooden walls and the mounted deer heads.
I turned my head slowly, my teeth clenched, my jaw aching where his ring had left its mark.
That damn ring—a gaudy thing with an oversized gold crest—was his weapon of choice.
He wore it like a badge of honor, a reminder of his position, a declaration of his right to rule over everything, including me.
“You think you can embarrass me like this?” His voice was venomous, his thick finger jabbing into my chest. The fire in the hearth behind him crackled, casting shadows across the room. The scent of burning wood and cigar smoke filled my nostrils, mingling with the coppery tang of my own blood.
“I didn’t—”
The slap came fast, ringing in my ears, snapping my head to the side. My mouth filled with the metallic taste of blood, and I swallowed it down, refusing to let him see me spit.
“Don’t you dare talk back to me!” he snarled, his face inches from mine. His breath stank of whiskey, sharp and acrid, and it made my stomach churn.
I wanted to scream, to yell, to fight back. But I didn’t. Not yet. Not while his eyes were still filled with that smug superiority, the look of a man who thought he was untouchable.
“You’re a disgrace,” he spat, pacing back and forth in front of the fire. His hands gestured wildly as he ranted. “You think you’re better than me? Smarter than me? You’re nothing but a spoiled little boy!”
The fur rug beneath my knees felt rough and itchy. My hands were clenched at my sides, my nails biting into my palms.
“I raised you, fed you, gave you everything! And this is how you repay me?”
He towered over me, his shadow long and looming in the firelight. His words came in a relentless torrent, each one sharper than the last.
“I should’ve had a stronger son,” he sneered.
“Not some weakling who can’t even follow simple orders.
Your mother coddled you too much. It’s pathetic.
” His voice got louder. “I suppose it’s my fault for agreeing to marry that half-brained whore and expecting anything but failures from her.
” He blew out a breath. “If it is not bad enough, I have you as my heir; the rest of your siblings are no better. Sickly, stupid, or broken. All of them tainted with that bitch’s useless DNA. ”
Something inside me snapped.
The mention of my mother was the last straw. She was the only person in this godforsaken house who’d ever shown me love, who’d ever treated me like I mattered. And he had the audacity to speak ill of her? As though she were the reason any of us in this house were damaged?
My vision went red.
Before I realized what I was doing, I surged to my feet, shoving him back with all the strength I could muster. He stumbled, his expression shifting from fury to shock, but only for a split second.
“You dare—”
He lunged at me, his fists swinging, but this time, I was ready. I ducked under his arm, my blood pounding in my ears. I wasn’t a child anymore. I wasn’t going to let him do this to me.
My fist connected with his jaw, the impact sending a shockwave up my arm. He staggered back, clutching his face, his eyes wide with disbelief.
“You son of a—”
He charged again, but I sidestepped, grabbing the iron poker from beside the fireplace. It was warm in my hands, the metal heavy and solid.
He froze, his eyes locking onto the weapon in my grasp.
“You don’t have the guts,” he said, his voice low and taunting. But there was a flicker of something else in his gaze now—something I’d never seen before.
I raised the poker, my hands trembling, my breath coming in sharp, ragged gasps. The room seemed to close in around us; the firelight flickering wildly, the mounted deer heads watching silently.
“You want to hit me?” he sneered, his bravado faltering. “Go ahead. Prove you’re as weak as I’ve always said you are to attack your own father.”
My grip tightened on the poker, my knuckles white. I could end it. Right here, right now. I could stop the pain, the humiliation, the constant shadow of his presence looming over me.
I raised the poker higher, my heart hammering in my chest.