Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 127476 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 637(@200wpm)___ 510(@250wpm)___ 425(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127476 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 637(@200wpm)___ 510(@250wpm)___ 425(@300wpm)
"She won't be a problem anymore," I say, drinking more to burn the feeling out of my chest. "She's gone."
"Gone where?"
I cut my eyes at him, sipping the liquor. He's curious, that much is clear. He wants to know if she's dead, but he doesn't want to come out and ask me.
"Doesn't really matter," I say coldly. "She's gone like the rest of them."
He mulls it over for a second, tapping his finger against the rim of his glass. "What did it?"
"I came home yesterday and the police were there," I say. "Jameson was at my house… in my house."
"So you dealt with it."
"I dealt with it."
It's not a lie, technically.
It's not my fault if he misconstrues what I'm saying.
"Ah, see, I knew it," Ray says smugly, nodding to himself, a slight smile touching his lips. "So now you see."
Yes, now I see...
Now I see what a self-righteous bastard he is.
Now I see how dangerous he can be.
Now I see that my father was right, that Raymond Angelo isn't someone I should look up to, that this isn't the type of man he raised me to be.
My hands will never be clean. I'll never erase what I've done, and I don't want to. If you're still looking for an apology about that, you need to look elsewhere. My one regret is Karissa—the pain I caused her, the way I hurt her, after I swore I wouldn't. She got the only apology anyone will get out of me. But she's gone now, and I've got nothing left to give.
"Now I see," I tell him, finishing my drink before setting the glass down on the table. "And now I'm out."
He gapes at me as I stand up. "You're out?"
"I got everything out of it I can get, Ray. I bled it dry, and now there's nothing left for me. I finished what I started, what you needed me to do… what I needed to do… and now I'm done."
"You think you can just walk away?"
"I don't think I can," I say. "I'm going to."
I hold my hand out toward him, to shake his. He stares at it for a moment, his expression hard, before he meets my eyes. He takes it, gripping firmly, almost to the point of pain.
It doesn't faze me, though.
He could shoot me in the face, and I wouldn't flinch.
"She ruined you," he says.
"She didn't ruin me," I say. "She just made me realize there wasn't anything left to salvage in the first place. I died with your daughter, Raymond. I'm the walking dead, and nobody loves a monster. Nobody."
I pull my hand from his, eye shifting to Brandy. She's watching me curiously. My eyes trail over her. She's showing more skin than she's covering.
I turn back to Ray, shaking my head. "Appreciate what you have, while you have it. God knows I wish I could've kept what I had."
I walk away, walking out, not bothering to say goodbye.
I know this isn't the end.
The end will be a bullet to the head.
Nobody walks away, but I'm going to.
Maybe I'll get a day.
A week.
A month.
It won't matter, though, because the end will come eventually. I'm living with a ticking clock strapped to my chest, counting down the seconds I have left.
But then again, I've been living that way for decades.
I drive around for a while, not ready to go home. I haven't been home since she left, since she walked out that door and didn't look back. It hasn't even been a whole day, but it feels like an eternity. She took nothing except her purse, leaving her clothes and phone behind. I wish I knew where she went, or what she's doing, just so I know she's safe, but a promise is a promise.
She's resilient.
As long as she stays away from this godforsaken place, she'll make it.
I have to believe that.
I end up in Hell's Kitchen an hour later, standing on the front steps of my parent's townhouse. I hesitate before knocking quietly, tapping on the old wooden door. I hear my mother's voice inside calling out, saying she's coming. I lean back against the railing, crossing my arms over my chest as I wait.
A moment later, the door opens, my mother appearing. Michelle Vitale is beautiful, looking so much younger than her sixty years, and I know it's natural. It's the kind of beauty that comes from years of unconditional love and a lack of stress. It's what my staying away does for her. As much as she might miss me, and love me, I know she's better off away from the reality of my life. I know it, and my father certainly knows it.
It's why he doesn't want me near her.
But I can't help myself today.
There's no cure for life's ills quite like your mother's smiling face.
She beams when she sees me, gasping with surprise, and instantly pulls me into a hug. Her grip is tight. I hug her back.
She has a way of making me feel like that little boy again, and not just the shell of him. All of him.
"Ignazio!" she says. "What a wonderful surprise!"
"Mom," I say, kissing her cheek. "You look as beautiful as ever."
"Oh, you keep your flattery," she says, blushing as she swats at my chest. "Come in, come in… I was just making some lunch."
I hesitate before stepping inside. She shuts the door behind me, making a point to lock it. They never did that when I was growing up, never bothered to lock their doors, just like they used to not worry about security at the deli. Just like there, I wonder if this is a sign of the times changing or if it's something my father did because of me.
I follow her to the kitchen, plopping down in a chair at the small table.
My mother's a spitfire, gossiping and chatting away like no time at all has passed since she last saw me, treating me as if I'm here for lunch every day. She treats me like I belong.