by Zoey Parker
“I don’t believe you,” I said.
Zane laughed bitterly. “Then you’re a fucking idiot,” he said. “Here, wait here.”
I was about to protest when Zane stood up and trotted out of the kitchen. I heard him rustling around in the other room but I didn’t ask to know what he was doing. I didn’t want to know what he was doing. I was sick of Zane. Sick of his lies, sick of his arrogance, sick of his asshole ways. I couldn’t believe I’d let myself get involved with someone who was so obviously toxic and dangerous.
“Here,” Zane grunted. He came back into the kitchen carrying an old photo album. “Look through this. See your fuckin’ precious daddy. Then tell me you don’t believe me.” He dropped the album on the table in front of me.
A cloud of dust rose, irritating my senses and making me sneeze a couple of times in quick succession. I looked at him with wary eyes before taking the cover between my thumb and forefinger. “I don’t want to see any sick shit,” I said carefully. “This better not be a snuff album.”
Zane practically exploded. “Jesus, Isabella, do you think we’re fuckin’ monsters? Of course, this isn’t a fucking snuff album! It’s a fucking family album! Jesus fucking Christ,” he repeated, rolling his eyes. “You’re about the most troublesome woman I’ve ever seen in my entire life. You live in a fuckin’ bubble of privilege, you know that?”
I didn’t reply. Instead, I opened the album and starting thumbing through the photos. A lot of them were black and white photos of little kids, it looked like they were taken in the 1950s and the 1960s. “Who are these people?”
Zane reached over and pointed to one of the cherubic-looking little boys. “That’s my pops, Lionel,” he said. “This is all his childhood.” Zane let me flip through a few more pages before he grabbed most of the pages with one hand and turned to the end of the album. I was startled to see a color photo of a man who looked like an older, paunchier Zane with his arm around a tall, tanned blond man…who looked like me.
“That’s my father,” I whispered. I even saw the locket around his throat. Suddenly, my stomach went cold and the blood in my veins turned to ice.
“Yep,” Zane said. He smirked at me. “Believe me now?”
I shook my head vehemently. “Just because they were in a photo together doesn’t mean my father was in the mob, Zane.”
Zane rolled his eyes. “Fine, Isabella.” He grabbed the album off the table and threw it at the wall, leaving a dent in the drywall. “Fine! Don’t fuckin’ believe me! Spend the rest of your life in ignorance about who you are! I guess if I told you that you stood to inherit millions that wouldn’t change anything! Would it? Would it!” He leaned in my face and screamed at me. “I guess that wouldn’t fucking matter!”
I blinked. “Millions?”
Zane laughed bitterly. “You fucking women,” he said in disgust. “All you care is about money.”
“I can’t believe you kept this from me,” I said quietly. “I can’t believe you pretend to care about me and then you’d keep the identity of my father from me, my inheritance from me! You don’t care about me at all,” I sniped. “You don’t give a fuck about me. You wanted to lie to me and keep me in the dark the whole goddamn time. I wouldn’t be surprised if you wanted my fortune all for yourself!”
“Because I’m so obviously hurting for money,” Zane retorted. “Yeah, I know, I live in a hovel, right?”
I’d had enough. I stood up from the table and stalked upstairs, picking my way delicately around the album and chunks of drywall that had fallen on the floor. Zane stood up and chased after me, but I was faster and I made it to the bedroom and slammed the door before he could catch up.
“Isabella!” Zane yelled as he banged on the bedroom door. “Don’t you fuckin’ go anywhere! Don’t you leave, Isabella!”
“I’ll do what I want,” I said in a shaky voice. “I don’t need you anymore! I have my father’s money!” I looked around the room for my belongings, getting dressed in a pair of jeans and my own remaining shirt. I threw the scarf around my neck and threw Zane’s shirt on the floor. After a second, I walked back over to the shirt and stomped on it, tearing it up with my heels.
“Isabella, come on,” Zane said. He pounded on the door with a fist. “Come out, we’ll talk. Everything will be okay.”
I laughed. “Nothing will ever be okay,” I snapped. “Because of you! You lied to me, Zane! You tried to keep my own history hidden and secret from me!”
Zane laughed humorlessly on the other side of the door. “You didn’t believe me!” he said in an incredulous voice. “You didn’t believe me when I tried to tell you! You had this perfect image of your perfect daddy and when I ruined that, you didn’t want to believe me! You didn’t believe shit until I showed you that photo and told you about the money he left you! But now I guess that’s all okay!” His tone was vicious and sarcastic and I cowered behind the locked door.
“Fuck you,” I spat. “I’m leaving.”
Bracing myself, I opened the bedroom door and tried to push past him. Even after our little fight downstairs, I thought I could shock him into letting me go.
But he grabbed my wrists and dragged me back inside, taking the bundle of clothes out of my arms and tossing it to the ground. Zane threw me on the bed and glared at me, his eyes blazing. “You’re not leaving,” Zane said in a deadly calm tone. “You’re not allowed to leave. It’s too fucking dangerous, Isabella. I’m not letting you get in trouble.”
Struggling, I sat up on the bed and tried to hurtle out of the room. I thought I could duck underneath Zane’s arm, but he was quicker and he grabbed me, wrapping his arms around mine and hugging me tightly to his body. I couldn’t move. I could only kick my legs and scream as he wrestled me over to the bed.
“Fuck you!” I spat. I kicked and scratched and clawed at the air but none of my attacks made their mark. Zane was stronger, and he threw me down on the soft mattress. I bounced limply, like a rag doll, and glared up at him.
“You ain’t leaving.” He walked quickly over to the door and pulled it closed behind him.
I heard something small, like a metallic click, and realized he’d locked me in. “No!” I screamed. I leapt off the bed and ran to the door, trying to pull it open with both of my hands. But the knob was locked, and it barely turned in the frame. “Zane! Let me the fuck out of here!”
From the other side of the door, I heard his voice. But he wasn’t speaking to me. “Hi, Jake. I got a situation over here. You’re gonna have to come over and help me guard this chick. She’s got a case of escape-itis.”
“No!” I screamed again. “Let me go!”
But there was only silence in reply.
Chapter 24
Zane
I paced downstairs as I waited for Jake to arrive. Isabella was making a commotion, banging and hollering around, and every time I heard a loud thump, I winced. She was a little hellcat, all right, but I couldn’t risk her running away. Not again, not when things were even more dangerous than they had been before. Hell, I would even say they were more dangerous than ever before, but I didn’t like to speak in hyperbole. With my luck, something worse was bound to happen.
Jake let himself in without knocking; I trusted him, and he had a key to my place. I always wondered whether or not he had a key to Lionel’s place, as well. I was starting to really have my doubts about Jake. Something about him just seemed…off.
“Hey, man,” he greeted me, grinning. “How’s that little woman of yours?”
I rolled my eyes. “Locked in the bedroom,” I told him shortly. “Don’t let her out. She’ll try to run.”
Jake raised his eyebrows. “You know, beating your wife isn’t really accepted anymore, kid,” he said with a smirk. “You better think twice about putting your hands on her.”
I glared at him. “Fuck you, man,” I snapped. “I didn’t do shit. She’s all…upset about something.”
Jake laughed. He sat down at the kitchen table and put his feet up, then ap
parently changed his mind and got up, walked over to the fridge and pulled out a beer. “Mind if I have a drink?”
I raised my hand in the air. “Go ahead,” I said sourly. Waiting until he had slunk down in the chair again, I sat down across from him.
He raised his eyebrows at me. “What’s going on?”
“We need to figure out that fuckin’ coke deal,” I snarled. “You’ve been leading me around for weeks now, and I haven’t gotten shit done, Jacks. You’re gonna have to be a little better than this if you want this partnership to continue.”
Jake grinned at me, a Cheshire-cat smile. “You’re not in a position to be so demanding,” he said, pulling out a knife and picking his fingernails with it. “You don’t get to tell me what to do, Zane. You know only Lionel can do that.”
“And right now, Lionel is on my ass about this deal!” I slammed my fist down on the table. From upstairs, I heard Isabella thumping around, making a racket. I was so fucking sick of my life at the moment, sick of Isabella’s manipulative whiny bullshit, sick of my father, sick of Jake lying to me about everything. I just wanted to climb behind the wheel of my Porsche and drive far, far away.
“I can’t do nothing, man,” Jake said with an easy grin. “Relax, my hands are tied!”
I shook my head. “I don’t believe you for a fuckin’ second,” I snarled. “I don’t believe you at all. You’ve been trying to fuck me since day one, and here you are. If we don’t figure this shit out with the Russians, Lionel’s going to pass over me and I’m going to be nothing. You hear that? I’m going to be nothing for the rest of my life. I worked my whole goddamn life to be successful in the business, and I’m gonna get fucked over by my best friend.”
Jake snorted. “You should have known better than to call me your best friend, Zane.” He grinned at me, exposing yellow teeth. “You should have known better than to keep up that blind loyalty shit all those years. You think your father actually loves you? He doesn’t give a shit. But me,” he said, jabbing a finger towards his chest, “I care about you, man. I’ve always cared about you. But you don’t wanna hear it. Mr. I Live in La-La Land over here! You need to get a handle on life, man,” Jake finished. “I ain’t gonna keep you around forever.”
I laughed. “You’re a fucking nitwit,” I told him, reaching over and cuffing him on the shoulder.
There was an uneasy silence between us. Even though I really hadn’t lied about how I felt, Jake treated the whole thing like a goddamn joke. It didn’t matter if we hated each other; it didn’t matter if we wanted to rip each other limb from limb. At the end of the day, the only thing that mattered was that we were both making money for the family. That was the only thing Lionel cared about.
“Don’t fuck me on this deal,” I said as I stood up from the table. “And don’t fuck with Isabella either. She scares easy.”
Jake laughed, a loud, throaty sound. “I bet she does,” he said lazily. “I bet she scares real fuckin’ easily.”
I rolled my eyes as I dug in the closet for my leather jacket and my boots. From the kitchen, I heard Jake belch loudly and slam his empty bottle down on the table.
“I’m gonna go see the old man,” I said. “If he gives me shit about this deal, I’m gonna come home and cold clock you sideways.”
Jake grinned. “The deal’s gonna happen, man,” he said, holding up his hands. “How many times I have to tell you? I’m workin’ with the Russians right now!”
I smirked. It was the closest Jake had come to giving me an affirmative answer about the coke deal. But it wasn’t good enough. We’d been fighting over this for weeks, and if I didn’t get it straightened out, I knew Lionel was gonna have my head.
“Look, I’m serious,” I said, pointing a thumb towards my chest. “I’m not kidding about this shit, Jacks. We gotta get this shit done. Otherwise, I’m out. I’m done. I’m not like you. I was born into this shit. My dad took you in when you didn’t have anywhere else to go. He doesn’t feel bad about kicking my ass out, he’s sure as hell not gonna feel bad about getting rid of you.”
“Relax, relax,” he said. He held up his hands. “I’m workin’ on it.” He smirked at me. “So that little broad upstairs is off limits?”
“You touch her and you’re fuckin’ dead,” I said, putting a hand on the gun tucked into the back of my jeans. “You are a fucking dead man, and I mean it.”
Jake smiled at me. “We’ll hold down the fort, here,” he said. “Don’t you worry. Have you a fine time, Mr. Zane,” he added, affecting a dopey, Southern-sounding accent.
I stormed out of the house and climbed behind the wheel of the Porsche. Getting into my car always felt like greeting an old friend; there was something about the soft, supple leather and scent of engine grease that reminded me of coming home. Or leaving home. I guessed it didn’t really matter — after all, I was going to see my father. That should have felt like home, but it didn’t. Lionel hadn’t felt like home since I was a little kid.
When I got to the house, I expected to see Terry lounging out front, half-naked like usual. There was a lawn chair tipped on its side and a pink plastic mug had rolled down to the end of the driveway. I frowned as I jogged over and picked it up.
“Fuckin’ drunk slob, drinking and fuckin’ off instead of taking care of my pops,” I muttered under my breath as I threw the pink mug in the bushes out front. I didn’t think much of Lionel’s endless parade of girlfriends, especially not Terry, who was literally young enough to be his daughter. I snorted. At the rate he’s going, he’s gonna have to order a mail order girl next, I thought grimly. He’s about gone through the whole damn town.
Morris, New Jersey, was a smaller town. It didn’t have a lot of people and it certainly didn’t draw a lot of people in. But here, we had a thriving family business. Despite his bad decisions, Lionel had done a pretty ace job of managing things throughout the years. But his health was failing, and I knew he wouldn’t be able to keep it up for long.
That was why that coke deal was so important. It was my job, the thing I was supposed to get done. The thing I had to do to prove to Lionel I was a man, a man capable and ready of leading the business. The thing I had to do to really put my mark on Morris, on the family business, and the Ricci name.
I wondered what Lionel would say if he knew I’d taken a wife.
“Yo, Lionel,” I said, knocking on the front door. When no one answered, I let myself in. The inside of the house was empty and quiet. There was an odd smell coming from the kitchen, but when I poked my head in, I didn’t see anything. “Yo, Dad,” I called loudly. “It’s me, Zane!”
There was no reply.
“Terry? You home?”
Still nothing.
“Fuck,” I muttered, kicking a newspaper where it had fallen on the floor. “This place is a fuckin’ sty.”
There was a thumping noise from upstairs. Frowning, I jogged upstairs, taking them two at a time until I was at the threshold of Lionel’s bedroom. The old man was propped up in bed. He looked shrunken and shriveled under the covers, and I could tell he wasn’t feeling well.
“Lionel, Pops, it’s me,” I said as I stepped into the room. “How ya feelin’, old man?”
Lionel grunted. When he opened his mouth, a trickle of blood came out. A feeling like shock came over me, like someone had poured a bucket of cold water over my head. I raced to the bedside as fast as my legs would carry me.
Lionel looked at me and blinked. He looked older than I’d ever seen him, like he’d aged ten years in two weeks. “Son,” he managed to sputter. “Son, what happened to me?”
“I don’t know,” I said, shaking my head. “Who did this?”
Lionel bobbed his head. He opened his mouth and more blood came streaming out. I felt like someone had kicked me in the gut. It was horrible, seeing my father this way. He looked like he was on the edge of death.
“Who did this?” I demanded. “Who?”
Lionel opened his mouth again. He clutched at his stomach with ancient
, decrepit hands. “I…I…” He trailed off. “I…Son…”
“Dad!” Yanking the covers away from Lionel’s torso, I saw he was covered in blood. My heart jumped into my throat and I had to look away. He’d been stabbed several times in the belly, and his innards were leaking out all over the sheets. There was something shiny and pink showing in the wounds and I shuddered, taking a closer look at the mass of blood, pus, and gore. Some clear fluid was leaking from the wound and I shuddered, screwing my eyes closed and turning away. The whole room smelled like blood and shit and I was wondering how I’d managed to miss that when I first stepped inside.
