Fuck. Don’t I do the same thing?
I could have gone after Luca, but I didn’t. I made excuses, reasons not to take action, and who the fuck knows what this asshole will pull next?
I force my eyes to my father’s face, and a pang assaults my insides when I see the expression of disappointment. He knows what I said was true. He can’t argue it.
And I’m just as screwed as he is because I didn’t get that killer gene, either.
My spine stiffens. “I don’t want to run an organization that doesn’t have faith in its leaders. There’s too much doubt, too much distrust. It needs to change, Dad. We need to change.” I grab my keys. I know what to do. I just need to figure out the how.
I walk over toward the front door and look toward the kitchen. I wave to my mom. “I’ll call you later. I’ve got to run.”
I slam the front door shut behind me and get into my car. I grab a Jolly Rancher from the center console and pop it into my mouth. I let the watermelon flavor consume my taste buds as I consider what I’ve just berated my father for. Anyone could say the same things about me. I haven’t done dick about Luca, other than let him haunt my subconscious. I’ve let him get inside of my head and I’ve done nothing to stop him.
Because I’m afraid.
Dad walks out of the house a minute later and grabs the handle of his car door. But before he opens it, his eyes meet mine. It’s a quick look, and it slices through me. I’m just as much at fault, and yet I’ve done nothing to fix things. He gave me the power to act, and I folded it up and stuffed it into my damn back pocket, endangering everyone I love in the process.
My phone pings with an incoming text, and I pick it up to see if it’s worth a response.
One of our Russian terriers escaped from the house. Can’t find him anywhere. He won’t be home for dinner.
I slam both hands on the steering wheel. “Fuck!” Duke is telling me one of our trucks was hijacked…one of our drug shipments from the Russians. That bastard Luca is behind the heist. I’d bet my fucking life on it. He’s not just out for blood; he’s looking to squeeze the life out of my businesses too.
I throw my car into drive and follow my dad’s Escalade. Rage courses through me, but I can’t deal with this truck bullshit right now. It’ll have to wait. I have something more important to take care of first. I need to meet Dad at the construction site and apologize for unloading on him. This Luca thing is fucking with me hard, and I feel like all I do these days is alienate people who are closest to me.
Maybe it’s because I’m afraid they’ll see right through me.
They’ll see my fear.
And if that happens, I’ll crumble.
I furrow my brow as Dad turns a corner onto a side service road. Why the hell is he going this way? Route 3 is a straight shot up to Bergen. I frown at the clock on the dashboard. Traffic shouldn’t be that bad now. I grip the steering wheel tight. He must be using Waze, and that app knows a shit ton more about traffic patterns than I do.
He slows to a stop when the next traffic light turns red. I tap my fingers, anxious to get there before Tony so I can talk to my father without that cocksucker lurking. I don’t need him hearing any of this. He’s still a slimy, conniving bastard as far as I’m concerned, and I don’t trust myself not to tell him that to his face, regardless of the fact that he’s my girlfriend’s father. She’s the only reason I bite back those caustic words.
The light finally turns green, and Dad’s Escalade accelerates through it. I tap on the gas, and stomp on the brake just as quickly when a dark blue minivan jerks across lanes and cuts me off. I veer right, narrowly missing the bastard. He’s not even making a turn. He jumped lanes to slow me the fuck down.
Asshole.
I lean on my horn, my eyes willing death on the driver in front of me. This jackass is going to hold me up and I’ll miss my chance to—
The sound of crushing metal and screeching tires grabs my focus, and the images in front of me blur to the point of incomprehension. Flashes of blue, white, and black streak my vision. I can’t make out shapes; everything gels together as the noxious smell of burning rubber fills my nostrils.
My heart hammers in my chest, my throat tight. A sea of memories rushes forth, temporarily blinding me to the chaos in my direct line of sight.
Grandpa Vito clapping me on the shoulder right before leaving my house on Christmas night. It was the night he’d died.
You have a lot of responsibilities now, Nico.
Walking along South Beach, talking to my dad on the phone.
He’s back, Nico. It’s not safe for you. Not safe for any of us.
The look of disappointment and shame on Dad’s face only minutes earlier.
You’re in a power position now.
I’ve given you the tools to rule.