“Shit.” I leaned back on the couch and played with the ring on my finger.
“He did ask for a favor.”
Safe to say there was no chance in hell I wanted to know about the favor he had asked of her.
“My grandmother’s journal.” She squinted. “He said he needed to borrow it, but he also said he’d return it.”
I jumped up from my seat on the couch and ran down the hall, followed by every other person in the room. I ran into Trace’s room and began searching the different shelves for the journal. “Where would he put it?”
Trace ran in behind me and began searching where I had just searched.
“No, wait.” I stopped her. “What else did he say? Think back. Did he give you any hints?”
Trace gasped and put her hands over her mouth. Her eyes welled with tears. She walked over to the bed and pulled back the covers.
Mil, Tex, and Mo walked into the room.
Trace sighed and threw the pillows off her bed.
And there it was.
The journal.
And it had a note on it.
Trace picked it up and held it to her chest. “He said he’d put it closest to my heart, to where he wanted to be.”
“Your bed?” Tex said from behind us.
I knew. Even if Tex didn’t. Her bed—he meant the night she gave him her heart—the night he took everything from her.
Only to give her something of hers back.
Why the hell did he have to go and die and be that noble even in his death?
Point, Nixon. “What does it say?”
She peeled the note from the journal and with shaking hands read it. “ ‘Remember what I said, it’s only good-bye for now. I need you to trust me. Listen to Chase. He’ll protect you while I can’t. And for the love of God read the damn journal. I had to pull some pages from it. More family secrets and all that. But be sure to read the journal with only those you trust. This cannot get into the wrong hands, because it’s the only evidence we have.’ ”
“Well.” I cleared my throat. “That wasn’t cryptic, not at all.”
“Why is he talking like he’s watching us?” Trace whispered, tracing the note with her fingertips.
“Because he is,” I answered. “He’ll always be with us.”
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a bit suspicious. The note was written in the present tense. Then again he wouldn’t have known he was going to die, and he could have ordered anyone to put the journal back if he couldn’t.
But the thought plagued me. Because it had been a closed casket, and things were too messed up. What if…? I hated what if almost as much as I hated the word “regret.”
Trace nodded and handed me the journal. “Guess we should get to reading. Don’t wanna piss off Nixon.”
“Yeah, he’d probably haunt us,” Tex snorted.
Even Mo and Mil laughed.
We decided to change into comfortable clothes and meet in the rec room in a half hour. I put the journal back on the bed and sat.
“What are you doing?” Trace asked, closing the door so we had privacy.
“Trying to still my rapidly beating heart. I swear if one more thing goes wrong I’m going to hide in your closet and plug my ears.”
“I need to change.”
“So change.” I shrugged.
Trace jutted out her hip and put her hand on it. “Fine.” She grabbed her clothes, went into the walk-in closet and shut the door.
“You don’t play fair!” I shouted.
She opened the door a crack and threw her discarded clothes in my face. Very funny.
After a few minutes (during which I swear I heard her fall down and curse), she emerged in a sweatshirt and black leggings. “I’m ready.”
“I should probably go change, too.”
She nodded and then bit her lip.
“What?”
“Nothing. It’s nothing.”
“Trace, it’s never nothing with you. I swear I can hear your brain actually hurting itself. What’s up?”
“Your tattoo?” She nodded to my chest. “What does it mean?”
I chuckled. “Which one?”
She pointed to the left side of my chest. “This one. The writing, it’s in Italian.”
I slowly unbuttoned my shirt and pulled it to the side. “It says blood brothers, Fratelli per patto di sangue.”
“Nixon.” She caressed the letters on my chest. “He has one, too.”
“In the same spot. But I think you already knew that.”
She nodded.
“I should go.”
“Okay.”
I stood up and walked out of the room, knowing damn well that if I stayed, I would do something irreversible. She deserved better than that, and for once in my life I was beginning to think I did, too.
Chapter Thirty-nine
Chase
It took us exactly one hour to find out what Nixon had written about. I stared at the writing and had to blink a few times in order to understand it. Could it be true?
“Shit.” Tex sighed. “I really don’t know what to say right now.”
Mo’s eyes filled with tears.
Mil didn’t seem shocked at all, but the girl was impossible to shock. I mean, she was Phoenix’s sister and all that. The girl was tough as nails.
Trace scooted away from me a bit. I didn’t blame her. I would scoot away from me and I was me.
“How do we know this is true?” I pointed at the offending journal and cursed. “I mean, that’s crazy, right?”
Mo lost it. She started bawling and then tackled me into the tightest hug I’d ever felt in my entire life.
I didn’t blame her.
She’d been closer than simply a cousin—she’d been like a sister to me my whole life, and now I finally knew why it had felt that way.
Nixon’s mom had had an affair with my dad. I was never my father’s son. This meant my so-called uncle, Nixon’s dad, was my dad. The man I’d called a monster when I was a little kid… was my flesh and blood. How bad did that suck?
So basically my real father was dead.
Because both wives had cheated.
Both wives had done so to get back at one another.
When my mom had learned of Tony’s betrayal, she’d gone to Nixon’s father, who was my real father.
Nixon’s mother had been in love with Tony. They had an affair for two years and then along came Mo and Nixon. Twins. Nobody would have ever known except Nixon’s dad had suspicions and called for a paternity test.
The minute the truth was discovered both women were screwed.
And both of them died for it.
I released Mo and sighed. “It still doesn’t explain how Trace’s parents died.”
“No.” Mo wiped her eyes. “But it explains so much. Why would your father keep this from you? Why would he keep it a secret? Why would he demand Nixon call him Uncle Tony when he was really his dad? Why would he let his brother beat his son! And on top of that…”—she hiccupped—“we’ve been lied to our whole lives. How do we know who to trust?”
The more I thought about it the sicker I became. She was right. Nixon’s real dad—my dad—Tony—had stood by and watched his son get beaten and did nothing.
He stood by and watched the woman he’d claimed to love get beaten, and did nothing.
One thing was for sure: My dad or uncle or whoever the hell he was, was a monster. And he was hiding something. I was going to either get it out of him or kill him with my bare hands. I’d never felt connected to him, never felt like we were close. And now I knew why.
Both men had kept secrets from us—but why?
“I need some air.” I bolted from the room and ran outside. A few of the men looked at me like I’d lost it. To be fair, I was way past merely losing it and on my way to insanity.
“Chase!” Trace ran out of the house in one of my coats and stopped in front of me. “Are you okay?”
“No, I’m not okay!” I yelled. “Ho
w the hell am I supposed to answer that? He wasn’t ever just my cousin!” The cold air nipped at my face. “He had always been like a brother to me—he gave me everything and I—”
“What?”
“I took it all from him. All of it!”
“Chase,” Trace warned. “The men. We don’t know who we can trust. We can’t fight… not now.”
“Shh.” I pulled her close. “Someone’s watching. I can see his shadow, stay close,” I whispered. “And go with it.” It could have been one of our men—but I was starting to become a paranoid lunatic when it came to everyone, especially considering my conversation with Tony. What if they worked for him? What if their loyalty wasn’t mine? The shadow moved, and then disappeared behind the building.
I tugged Trace closer and kissed her forehead, speaking up. “I want you. I need to be with you, Trace. Having Nixon gone, it’s killing me.”
“Chase, you can’t…” Trace shook her head. “You can’t be like this. We can’t do this!”
“We aren’t doing anything,” I said in low tones, reaching for Trace’s hand. “Don’t you?” I looked directly at the shadow, hoping to God I wasn’t hallucinating, I mean, two seconds ago I was pretty sure I had died or something. “Don’t you feel the same way?” I looked above Trace’s head at the shadow and then back at Trace.
She jerked her hand away from mine. “It doesn’t matter what I feel. It’s not about me, Chase.”
“But it is.” I reached for her again. This time her hand stayed firmly in mine. She needed to play along or she was going to die. She didn’t know that, but I did. Because I’d just seen my father watching us from the side of the house. Meaning, he had to believe I’d bought it, I’d follow his assignment.
“It isn’t,” Trace sighed. “It never was.”
I jerked her toward me again. She fell against my chest and looked up into my eyes. “What are you doing?”
I sighed. “What I should have done a long time ago.”
I kissed her, hard, and then slid my mouth to her ear to whisper, “I’m going to shoot my gun. This is very important. I need you to collapse against me, okay?”
She nodded and clung to my shirt as I shot my gun into the side of the coat, making a muffled sound as it rang out into the night air.
Trace collapsed on me.
With a curse, I picked her up and carried her back inside.
The men were watching and hopefully so was my father. He’d think I’d tied up one loose end. Oddly enough, this might make him play perfectly into my hands. The sick thing was, that as much as I’d asked all my men to protect her, nobody ran to my side when I shot her—nobody blinked. My family officially sucked.
When we reached the kitchen I told her to crawl down the hallway and into her room, locking the door until I came and told her all was safe. I closed the blinds to the windows, pulled out my knife and sliced down my arm so that I would have actual blood on my hands. Ripping my shirt, I sliced part of my side, using as much of the blood as I could, and then I bandaged myself up.
A knock sounded at the door.
If it was my father, retribution was going to happen a hell of a lot sooner than I’d first thought.
To my utter shock and surprise, and most likely bad luck, I was knocked to the ground by a fist to the face.
“You son of a bitch. I swear I’ll kill you if you actually shot into her perfect body.”
“Nixon?” I gasped.
“No. I’m an angel of death coming to take you to your maker, you ass. Yes it’s me.”
“B-b-but—” I stuttered.
“We don’t have time. I just had to make sure she wasn’t actually shot. You’re lucky I saw Uncle Tony or I would have shot you on the spot. And ruined everything. Nice ring, by the way.”
“Am I dead?” I checked my body for gunshot wounds and was treated to another punch to the jaw.
“Answer your question?” Nixon tilted his head to the side. “Or do I need to make things more clear?”
“Still an ass.”
“Still more like a brother than your cousin, don’t you think?”
I froze.
“Look, I can’t stay. I shouldn’t even be here. I just needed to make sure they made you boss… What did Uncle Tony say tonight?”
“That I deserved to take your place—oh, right, and he told me to tie up loose ends.”
“Trace.” Nixon cursed.
“Yeah, Nixon. What’s going on?”
“Just act normal.” He paced in front of me. “I’m already dead, all right? But you guys, you’re alive, get it? If this goes badly…”
Aw shit. He was telling me what I didn’t want to know. If it went badly, and he did die, then he didn’t want Trace to mourn him all over again.
“But how are Luca and Mr. Alfero—”
“Sorry. This is where our conversation ends.” Nixon raised his hand to my head and everything went black.
Chapter Forty
Nixon
“He’s lucky as hell I didn’t beat the shit out of him.” I pounded my fist against the table and cursed.
“Nobody ever said being dead was easy,” Trace’s grandpa chuckled.
“I hate this.”
“It’s the only way. Quite clever, too, might I add.” He took a sip of coffee and drummed his fingers on the table. “It won’t be long now.”
“It’s been too long,” I grumbled. “If it doesn’t work, if I’m wrong, if Phoenix and Mil are wrong…”
“If, if, if. Stop worrying; you’ll give yourself an ulcer. At least I’d make it quick,” Luca said, walking into the room. “Straight in the head, just like you asked.”
“How… kind,” I muttered.
“I aim to please.”
“No, you aim to kill.” This from Frank.
Luca chuckled. “That too. Now, what did you discover on your little spying mission? All went well, yes?”
If well meant I had to sit by and watch Chase take over my life and fall even more in love with my girlfriend than yeah, it had gone fantastic. I leaned forward and poured myself another cup of coffee. “He ordered a hit on Trace.”
Frank gripped the table. “That lying piece of—”
“Quiet.” Luca put up his hand. “And?”
“And, Chase knows that Uncle Tony isn’t his real father. I left enough hints, and they’ve clearly read the journal.”
“So…” Luca clasped his hands together. “All loose ends are tied, then?”
“Yes.”
“So we wait.” Frank took another sip of coffee.
“I hate waiting.” I wanted to bang my head against the table a million times.
“Chin up.” Luca pulled out a cigar and handed it to me. “If you’re right in your assumptions, you’ll be celebrating with your girlfriend by the end of the week.” That was if she still loved me… loved me more than him. After all, I had left her again. And Chase, he’d been there the whole time.
“And if I’m wrong?”
“Then we go fishing in Lake Michigan.” Using my body as bait, no doubt. I loved bleak futures. Truly, they were what got me through the monotony of life.
Hell, I needed a drink, but I had been pulling all-nighters just in case I was needed. Damn, but my body was completely exhausted. The only thing that helped was my cell phone.
Who knew I would be so addicted to technology?
Or her?
I’d turned it on airplane mode so that I couldn’t receive calls. But I could look at my pictures.
My thumb hovered over the picture I’d snapped of Trace on our first date. I’d taken her on a picnic. Had she turned out to be just a normal girl and not the little girl I grew up with, I would have still fallen.
I would have still wanted her.
Because she was so damn special. She was… my other half. She didn’t take my shit like most people and she seemed to genuinely care. When she touched me—well, sometimes it felt like everything was still in my world. And I needed that peace more than
I’d care to admit.
Maybe I was just holding on to a fantasy. It was possible she would turn and walk away from me. And when that time came, if that was the choice she wanted to make, I’d let her. Not because I wanted to let her go, but because I respected her too much to keep her when she wanted to leave.
I truly believed that the greatest sacrifice someone could make in life was putting someone else’s needs before your own wants and desires. Loving someone with such a passion that you’d suffer the rest of your life just so you could see them smile. You’d go to hell and back—if only it meant keeping them safe.
She was my Juliet—and damn if I didn’t want the story to end differently. I wanted her to have a life, even if it was apart from me.
I saw a pair of boots and ripped jeans and looked up into Phoenix’s eyes. “What?”
“Nothing.” He sat. “I just…” With a heavy sigh he leaned forward. “I wanted to apologize again. I get it, I don’t deserve your forgiveness and I sure as hell don’t deserve your protection or anything else. I know that the only thing that’s kept me alive so far is the fact that I’m a head of the De Lange family and even that didn’t keep me from almost getting killed.”
I set my phone down and leaned back. “No. We did.”
“And my sister, don’t forget her,” Phoenix said.
“Couldn’t even if I wanted to.” I sighed. “Once she started telling me what you knew, what you saw…” I shook my head. “I knew there was no other choice.”
“There’s always a choice,” Phoenix whispered. “You just happen to be one of the good ones.”
“What do you mean?” My head snapped up.
“You know what I mean.” He smirked. “As much as it pains me to admit it, and as much of a pain in the ass as you’ve been your entire life… you’re the good guy. The one who runs headfirst into battle with your sword raised high above your head. You’re like freaking William Wallace,” he snorted. “And the rest of us? Well, if we aren’t blinded by jealousy, we’re blinded by something else entirely.”
I swallowed and looked down at my hands. “Oh yeah? What’s that?”
“Hope.” He sighed. “Hope that it won’t always be like this, that our families won’t always be at war and that in the end, it’s possible that the good guy wins.”