“You were thinking about her, Nixon.” Chase shook his head. “And that’s where we differ. Because toward the end, when I was forcing her to choose”—he sighed—“I wasn’t thinking about her. I was thinking about me.”
I exhaled and closed my eyes. “I won’t fight for her.”
Chase threw down his drink and punched me in the jaw. “The hell you won’t! You piece of shit! I deserve to be shot! And you’re going to sit there and just give up.”
My drink clattered to the ground as I swayed on my feet. “What the hell, Chase? You’re the one who took the most precious thing in my life from me. You’re the one who, even though you knew I was alive, kissed my girlfriend, my forever, my reason for living. And you’re yelling at me?”
“Damn right I am,” Chase spat. “She loves you!”
“She loves you too.” I massaged my jaw. “And I’m not gonna do that to her.”
“Do what?”
“Make her choose.”
Chase hung his head and rubbed his temples. “Stop being the bigger man.”
I sighed. “It’s not about me, man. It’s about her. I’m not going to put her between us. Hell, I’m not even going to let it get between you and me. It’s her, it’s always been her, it’s about her. Hell if I’m going to sit here and throw a fit for wanting something that doesn’t want me back. She loves you? Fine. Because, Chase. It’s never been about my wants or my needs. I can’t live if she’s unhappy. I can’t breathe if she’s upset. If being with you brings her that peace, then I want you to have her. I’ll be your best man at the wedding. I’ll babysit your kids when you want date night. Chase—” I swallowed the emotion in my throat and shook my head. “It’s about her.”
Chase’s eyes welled with tears. I’d never in my life seen the guy cry, but I knew he was close. The man was tough as shit. And I hated that we had been brought to this, that after a lifetime of friendship it would be something like fighting over a girl that would bring us back to the spot where we’d made our pact.
His eyes glazed over as he straightened his spine. “I don’t know if I can let her go. How do you let her go? How did you do it? I can’t—” He shuddered. “I can’t, Nixon. I’m sorry, but if she wants to be with me, I won’t say no. I can’t.”
I sucked in a deep breath and held out my hand to him. He took it. I pulled him in for a hug. “I wouldn’t expect you to, Chase. I would never ask that of you.”
“I want to hate you.”
I released him from my grip and laughed. “Yeah, well, sorry to disappoint you.”
“You wanna go apologize first? Or should I?” Chase asked.
“Let’s give her some time, all right? She did just shoot me. I wouldn’t put it past her to do it again.”
Chase chuckled. “Hell of a lucky shot. I’m surprised you’re still walking straight, a foot to the left and you would have been—”
“Thanks, yeah, I know what I would have been. Dying.”
We picked up our drinks and walked back to the house.
I opened the door to see Mil, Mo, and Tex all back in the room watching us pensively.
It was as if they had all taken in a huge breath and were waiting to see if me or Chase needed to go to the hospital.
“It’s fine.” I waved my hand in the air. “Nobody’s going to die.”
They exhaled in unison.
“Not to rain on anybody’s parade, but we gotta call the men together tonight. Let them know what happened.” Tex shoved his hands in his pockets.
It was awkward. A few weeks ago I’d been the boss. I’d been the boss for years and now I had to look to Chase. After all, his blood was the boss’s blood, the man I used to call father.
He clenched his right hand, and light bounced off the ring. “Make the call, Tex.”
“Right away.” Tex pulled out his cell and started making arrangements.
“And the funeral,” I said. “We can’t forget about Phoenix.”
“No.” Chase nodded. “We won’t forget him.”
Chapter Fifty-two
Nixon
I watched as the men slowly began trickling into my house. Most of them were so damn happy to see me alive it was as if there wasn’t this giant elephant in the room—Chase being boss, and me being… what? What was I? I grabbed a glass of wine and took a seat.
Chase called the meeting to order just as Sergio walked in.
The men began to whisper between themselves.
And then Frank Alfero walked in, with Luca.
It hadn’t occurred to me until now how much power was sitting in that room. The head of the Nicolosi family from Sicily, the Abandonatos, and the Alfero mafia boss. Frank nodded at me and took a seat opposite on the couch.
“Gentlemen.” Chase cleared his throat. “Please welcome Luca Nicolosi and Frank Alfero. They’ve been gracious enough to attend our meeting.”
Luca nodded at Chase. “Someone has to clear the air.”
Over the next hour Luca explained in great detail the plans that had unfolded over the past few weeks. How I’d gone to him and staged my own death in order to snuff out Tony. How I needed more proof and how, in a moment of clarity, the De Lange boss, Phoenix, had redeemed himself by not only helping us, but by finishing off the rat that put us in that situation in the first place.
I watched as men, the ones I had grown up with, the ones I had looked up to, shook their heads, slapped backs with one another and began mumbling prayers under their breath.
Yes. We were the mafia.
But when family died? When lives were uselessly lost in our tight-knit family? That wasn’t business. No, it was tragedy and each and every one of them knew it.
When Luca was finished, Frank stood. “I’d like to say something.” He cleared his throat and looked around the room. “I’d like to thank your family. Not only did you put me into hiding, but you protected my granddaughter at all costs. It’s because of you that I may finally let go of the death of my son and daughter. It is because of you that I am able to hold my head high once again. I owe you my allegiance. This fighting, between us, it ends. It ends now.” He took his seat.
Chase stood. “There is one more thing to discuss.”
I knew how uncomfortable it would make him, so I stood and walked over to his side, giving him silent encouragement with my presence.
“Nixon and I…” He looked to the ceiling. “Well, we discovered some things about our pasts—things that really shouldn’t matter anymore. Regardless of my own parentage, and regardless of his, I motion to reinstate Nixon as the boss.”
“Chase,” I growled. “What the hell are you doing?”
He turned to me and grinned. “My damn job, like you ordered me to.”
It was unanimous. Chase slapped me on the back and left the middle of the room. I wasn’t sure how I felt, but for some reason it was right. Even though I wasn’t blood related to my father, even though normally that was how things worked. I was good at what I did. And I wanted it. Sadly, I couldn’t bask in the glory of it that long, not when I realized that now things were once again backward. If Trace wanted to end up with Chase, he was once again the safer choice. Damn.
“One more thing.” Luca stood. “Since I am here, it is imperative that we notify the De Lange family of the happenings. It is also crucial that the next boss be appointed.”
“Did Phoenix have any brothers?” Sergio asked.
“No.” I chuckled and looked at Chase. “But he has a hell of a stepsister.”
“A woman?” a man asked.
“It has been done before,” another answered. “Is not the most peaceful city in Sicily run by a woman?”
“True.” Luca seemed to think on it. “Shall I bring it up to the family?”
I laughed. I couldn’t help it. “Bring it up?” I nodded. “Seems to me your way of bringing things up includes threats with death and Lake Michigan.”
Luca shrugged. “I cannot help that I am one for dramatics.”
Frank rolled
“Fine.” I nodded. “Notify the family and Emiliana. I want it to be done before you leave, Luca, and the funeral, too.”
“Done,” he said. “Now, let us make a toast.”
Each man raised their drinks.
“A toast,” Luca said, “to family.”
“Familia!” Everyone cheered and drank.
Chapter Fifty-three
Chase
Things were set to rights. I knew Nixon was probably thinking in the back of his mind that I’d handed the job back to him so I could have Trace—he couldn’t be more wrong. I gave him the title because I knew I didn’t have what it took to pull it off. Nixon was a badass, he was… ridiculously loyal and selfless. In the end I knew that I would choose me over someone else.
And that’s why I didn’t deserve Trace.
Because in the end, I chose myself—not her. Had I chosen her, I wouldn’t have put her in the position I did.
In the end, I was selfish in my pursuit of her. I loved her… and maybe that was the problem. My love for her overshadowed everything else. I would have run away with her without looking back.
The men dispersed.
I sat at the table twirling a glass between my hands.
All the lights were off.
It was just me and a vintage bottle of whiskey.
Good lord, I was depressing.
I felt a hand touch my shoulder and looked up. Trace was standing over me, her eyes sad. I couldn’t look at her. I had to look away; my breath hitched as her hand slid down my arm and then touched my hand. I gripped it, I held on for dear life.
“Chase I—”
I closed my eyes and just listened to her voice. “Say my name again… please.”
“Chase.” She choked a bit. “Chase, Chase, Chase…” She released my hand and grabbed my face between her palms. “Chase.”
I opened my eyes and looked directly into hers, holding her with my gaze, begging her with my soul… Me, choose me. Because I need you. More than I want to admit.
Her mouth met mine in a gentle kiss. For a brief moment, I was relieved, I thought maybe she was choosing me, maybe it was just going to be us, maybe there was a happy ending and we’d ride out into the sunset. But she pulled back too soon. I leaned forward, our foreheads touched.
She spoke so softly I almost didn’t hear her. “I’m so mad at you.”
“I know.” I sighed.
“You lied to me, Chase. You made me…” Her eyes closed. “You made me choose. I relied on you for everything. You were my survival and you betrayed me, you betrayed what we were, what we had.”
Nodding, I tried to pull away from her but she wouldn’t let me. Her hands were like a vise grip on my head.
“You made me love you—made me rely on you… Because of you, I don’t know if I’ll ever be whole for him. I don’t know if I can be that girl that he first loved. And I want to hate you for it, except you’ve made me love you so damn much that it hurts.”
“Trace I—”
Her lips silenced me, again, a brief kiss, a brief velvet touch of her lower lip and then she pulled back again. “I do love you… but…”
“But?” I knew it was coming. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. I broke out into a cold sweat.
“Chase.” She pulled away and wiped a tear from her eye. “You have my heart, but Nixon… he owns my soul.”
I shuddered; it felt as if she had just grabbed a knife and rather than stab me in the back, told me that she was going to cut me deep through the chest. In the end I would have preferred the sneak attack, because maybe then I wouldn’t have to watch those gorgeous brown eyes well up with tears as I nodded and felt my chest constrict until I thought my body was going to explode under the pressure.
The cold knife went straight for my heart—it pierced the muscle, ceasing it from beating, but didn’t end there. Had she been merely rejecting me, the pain would have stopped, but she wasn’t just rejecting me, she was disappointed in me, and still choosing another. So the knife twisted; it twisted until I went numb and then… I closed my eyes as I savored the feeling of everything in my world stopping.
It was me and Trace, stuck in a time warp. I reached for her face and sighed when my hand came into contact with her cheek. A single tear met my fingers. I pulled back and rubbed the tear between my thumb and forefinger and then got up.
“Chase, wait…”
“No.” I grabbed the bottle from the table. “It’s fine.” I managed a tight smile. “This was always how it was supposed to be, Trace. Believe me, we’re better off as friends.”
“Can we still go there? After… everything?” Her eyes were hopeful.
“Sure,” I lied and stumbled away from her, seeking the darkness of my room and the bottom of the bottle in my right hand.
The minute I walked into my room, I slammed the door behind me and locked it. Shit, did everything have to smell like her? Numbly, I walked over to the bed, the same bed we’d shared less than forty-eight hours ago. Her smell was so deeply etched into the fibers of the sheets that I couldn’t bring myself to do anything except take a swig of whiskey and allow her scent to overwhelm the pain.
I don’t know how long I sat there on the bed. Drinking and sniffing like some lunatic.
That’s the thing about love—you’d do anything to secure it—except when you finally have it, you’re so damn worried about losing it that your choices are no longer selfless but selfish. That’s what happened to things with Trace and in the end that was how I lost her.
I refused to pack away the memories of her kiss.
The way we fit together perfectly.
I held on to those memories because in that moment I was pretty damn sure that no girl would ever be able to fully wipe them from my consciousness, and hell if I’d let them to begin with.
I drank half the bottle.
Not a proud moment for someone who doesn’t normally drink. Shit, she’d turned me into an alcoholic over the course of two weeks! What the hell did that say about my self-control?
The room spun. I put the bottle down and rubbed my eyes.
It was late.
You’d think I’d be too drunk to even think.
Clearly, I had a way higher alcohol tolerance than I would have preferred for the current situation.
Someone knocked softly on my door.
I refused to answer.
The knock came again.
With a curse I stumbled to my feet and opened the door. Mil stood on the other side. Her hair was pulled into a messy bun and she was wearing really short black workout shorts and a tank top.
“Shit, Mil, I’m not in the mood.” I moved to close the door but her hand stopped me. She pushed against my chest.
“Chill. I’m not here to take advantage of your drunken state.” Rolling her eyes she stepped past me into my room.
“What part of I’m not in the mood don’t you get?” I slurred and stumbled over to my bed.
Mil held up her hands. “Again, not here to steal your virtue and I’m pretty sure if the opportunity did present itself you’d be asleep in a pile of your own puke within thirty seconds. So, thanks but no thanks.”
I groaned into my hands and lay facedown on the bed. “What the hell do you want?”
Muttering a curse, she walked over to my bathroom and turned on the shower. I heard a few things clattering around before she was back, standing in front of me.
Somehow my shoes were off, then my jeans. Damn, it was cold. Mil pulled me to my feet and lifted my shirt over my head. I swayed against her.
“Chase Winter, I swear if you puke on me or try to hit on me in any way, I will cut you. Clear?”
“Am I in Hell?” My teeth chattered as the cold from the room seeped into every bone in my body.
“Close.” She muttered, grabbing my hand and walking me into the bathroom. The steam billowed out from the shower. “Get in.”
“Why?” I croaked.
“Because you smell like whiskey.”
“Maybe I like smelling like whiskey.”
She didn’t say anything, just stood there, arms crossed.
“You checking me out?” I took a step closer to her and stumbled. I steadied myself on the granite countertop and cursed.
Mil snorted. “Believe me, you couldn’t be any less attractive to me right now if you tried.”
“Is your plan to make me suicidal?” I closed my eyes so the room would stop spinning.
“Nope, although I think at one point it was yours. You do know that drinking that much vintage whiskey could get you killed?”
“I have a stomach of steel.” I belched and then ran over to the toilet and began showing her just how steely-like my stomach could be.
A cool cloth was placed on my neck as I continued to puke. “Why the hell are you being so nice to me?” I wiped my mouth with the same cloth and cursed.
Mil helped me to my feet and managed to look at me in the eyes as I stripped off the rest of my clothes and stumbled into the shower. She was behind me, helping me, like I was some sort of elderly person.
Apparently she wasn’t going to answer the question.
I don’t remember much of the shower, just that somehow I managed to get back into my bed—and that I was dry. Weird. Had she toweled me off?
Hello rock, meet bottom.
“I’m helping you…” Mil whispered as she pulled the covers over my shoulders and patted my head like a small child, “because even though I think you’re an asshole… getting your heart broken sucks. Besides, I have a proposition for you.”
“Okay.” I turned over and lifted the cover. “But make it quick.”
“Yeah, you need to stop flashing me.” She put the blanket back on me. “Drink some water and we’ll talk in the morning.”
“Why talk when we can—”
She placed her hand over my mouth. “I don’t think I like drunk Chase.”
“Me either…” I grumbled.
“Go nighty-night, sleeping beauty. The morning will come soon enough.” Mil left the room and I fell into a peaceful darkness.
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