Chapter Twenty-Nine
Max
“Max,” Dad says. We’re surrounded by the hustle and bustle of countless of his guests, but he’s not interested in the many wealthy, powerful men and women he’s invited over for a holiday celebration.
After all, he has all year to network with them; he has only a few days each year to talk to me, and my interest in speaking with him has long-since faded.
“It can’t be like this forever, son.”
“Actually, it fucking can,” I say, staring at the glass of whiskey I’m nursing. I haven’t taken a single sip of it, and I don’t intend to. I need to be sober for the rest of the night—after all, I have plans that don’t involve a room full of well-dressed criminals.
“Max,” Dad repeats, sterner this time. I gaze at him with vague curiosity, wondering if this is the moment that his true nature will peek through.
That he’ll show the side of himself he hid so fucking expertly from me all these years and start yelling at me or hitting me.
After all, that’s what someone in the mafia should do, right?
“Your mother’s devastated—”
“I talk to her every other day,” I snap. It’s my father that I don’t have a spare word for.
Mom didn’t know he was in the mafia until after she was pregnant with me; I can’t blame her for marrying him, but I sure as fuck can blame him for knocking her up and starting a family while holding one of the most dangerous seats in the country.
The right-hand to a crime lord who has operations running half of North America, and even spanning into parts of South America and Canada.
I was 18 when Dad finally had the fucking balls to tell me exactly what kind of business he does. Spoiler alert; it’s not the hedgefund bullshit he presents to the world. No, his business has more to do with cracking skulls and burying bodies—not calculating numbers and making money.
It shocked me. It horrified me. It rewrote my understanding of my family, and more, the world. Since then, I’ve had very little to say to my father, because his job puts both me and Mom in danger every single fucking day. This room may be brimming with his allies, but he has twice as many enemies.
“She’s devastated about us,” he snaps. “Son, it’s been years—”
“And even decades won’t be enough,” I snarl, rounding on him. I’m taller than my father—he’s just under six feet, and I’m 6’4. I lean down until we’re nose to nose. “You raised me to believe that you were a genius with numbers, and that’s why we were so wealthy.”
“I am,” Dad snaps. “You inherited that from me.”
“You raised me to think that you were a good man who went to work every day, like everyone else, and did normal business. But it wasn’t fucking normal business, was it? No, you weren’t punching numbers into an excel sheet; you were overseeing operations that ended up with people dead.”
Dad heaves a sigh, and both his chins sag.
My jaw clenches at the sight of him. I used to look up to this man—I used to adore him and fucking worship him.
Now, I see him for what he is, and I understand that the splendor surrounding me is a lie.
My entire life has been a lie, and I will never, ever forgive my father for that.
More, I won’t forgive him for doing shit that puts me and Mom in constant danger, and not having the guts to tell me about it until I was leaving for college.
He’s a coward to have kept this from me as long as he did. He’s a fucking asshole for everything he’s put Mom through. She lives every day of her life in danger of his enemies coming for her, and she doesn’t even seem to give a shit.
“We all do what we have to, Maximus. One day, you’re going to understand that making money isn’t always a clean endeavor. Sometimes, you need to get your hands dirty. I grew up dirt-poor, and I decided to never be poor again, so I built this empire for myself… and for you.”
“I don’t fucking want it,” I hiss. “I don’t want any of it.”
Instead of getting angry or violent, a small smile flits across Dad’s lips. “You say that now, Max, and you might even think you mean it. But, eventually, you’ll reconsider.” He claps my shoulder.
I shoot him a baleful glare, turn, and walk away, dropping my whiskey on a servant’s tray as I pass them. I head straight outside and pull out my phone, where I see the text I’ve been anticipating from Ember.
In an instant, my foul mood evaporates. Any thoughts of my father and his dealings disappear, and a familiar lightness lifts my chest.
I’m not an angry guy. I’m dangerous when I need to be, I don’t mind threatening someone to keep the people I love safe, but I’m not mean. Dad has brought out an entirely different side of me these last few years, but Ember… Ember reminds me of who I really am.
I start making my way down the dirt path leading to the groundskeeper’s house without even bothering to don a coat. My suit jacket ought to be enough.
It’s a cold day. Freezing, really; even my coat is barely protecting me from the New England winter chill.
But I really couldn’t give less of a fuck about that, because after another stretch at college and dealing with the insanity of finals, I’m home.
And Flame’s just invited me over, offering me an escape from the obnoxious Christmas party my dad’s hosting.
I know now that a good portion of his rich friends aren’t businessmen—or, not above-board businessmen.
I don’t know if I’ll ever have it in me to forgive him for turning from my idol into a nightmare.
I want to be a vet, for fuck’s sake. Before making that decision.
I spent summers interning with physical therapists and doctors to see what field of medicine I wanted to go into.
I’m going to save lives, and knowing that I come from a family that’s made triple-digits millions from taking lives isn’t just surprising; it’s devastating.
Dealing in organized crime isn’t simply illegal, it’s dangerous. It endangers me and Mom, no matter how much Dad insists that our safety is assured.
Ember’s out on the porch when I approach, waiting for me. She smiles when she sees me, eyes lighting up with joy. She looks… different, even from when I saw her for Thanksgiving, and good. Really good. Too fucking good.
It takes me a beat to realize that she’s wearing makeup—not much, not like the girls at college who smear their faces in enough product to drown their natural features in hopes to stand out, not realizing that all they’re doing is blending in with the crowd of wannabees even more.
No, Ember’s makeup is subtle and stunning.
Eyes just a touch of darkness around the corner of her eyes, some product on her lashes to make them look a mile long, and a slight gloss on her lips.
My heart quickens when I realize she got made up for me.
My gaze travels south, over her coat and the hunter-green dress beneath it. My mouth runs dry when I realize it’s a wool wrap dress, and it has a gorgeous V-neck that shows off the barest hint of subtle cleavage.
Fuck, I can’t be having dirty thoughts about her. I can’t be admiring her. I can’t want anything more than what I have with her; not when she’s so young and inherently vulnerable.
She was probably dressed up for when she went out with friends earlier in the day, and forgot to change. Yeah, that has to be it. That has to be it, or I might find myself crossing lines that I can’t uncross.
“Hi,” she greets with a soft smile as I trot up the steps to her porch.
“Hey, yourself.” Crap, my voice is too rough.
I sweep her up into a bear-hug, giving her a spin around, and inhaling her scent until I nearly get high on it. It’s something sweet, like vanilla, mixed with that mint tea she loves to drink so much.
“I’ve missed you,” she says when I set her down.
I roll my eyes. “We talk, like, all the time.”
“But I don’t get to see you enough anymore.”
“I saw you a few weeks ago for Thanksgiving.”
She smiles, a bit shyly. God, she’s so gorgeous when she smiles. Her lips—
No. Do not think about her lips.
Just as I divert my thoughts, her gaze drops to my lips, and I almost lose it and devour her mouth.
No, no, no, no. Maybe I shouldn’t have come here tonight. No, I definitely shouldn’t have come here tonight. She’s a distraction, and—
“I’m sorry if I’m acting clingy.” She releases an embarrassed laugh and looks down at her feet shyly. She’s wearing checkered Converse—her favorite.
I’ve had years to memorize all her favorite things, and I don’t think I’ll ever stop noticing and committing them to memory. She’s too ingrained in who I am.
“You’re not acting clingy. And even if you were, I’d love it.”
Fuck me, I genuinely would love it. I could totally see it, too. See her on the same college campus as me next year, acting jealous when she sees me around other girls. Showing up at my apartment wearing nothing but a coat, and—
Stop, stop, stop. Abort mission. What the hell is wrong with me?
She’s not even legal yet. I’ve never thought about her like this before, but recently, something’s changed.
Either the tone of her texts, which have grown more flirtatious, or the way her body and personality are both evolving as she grows into an adult.
She’s been my favorite person for a long time, but for years, it was as a friend. A friend I was extremely protective of and never quite saw like a little sister, rather a smart, small creature that required protection. Now, everything’s changing, and that scares the shit out of me.
This five-foot-three pixie of a human being scares the fuck out of me.
She peeks up at me shyly, cheeks flushing, and I imagine seeing that flush in other places. My eyes drop farther down than they should, and that’s when I catch a glint of silver in the darkness.
The necklace. My necklace—our necklace. The one I gave her before leaving. She’s wearing it, again. She’s always wearing it when I see her, but now, seeing it glitter between her delicate collarbones… something unreasonably possessive curls inside of me.