His heavy footsteps thud down the hall. “Sir?”
“Take Lyssa home. The long way.”
He doesn’t argue or balk at my orders. Adrian’s a good man. Without explanation, he’ll do what needs doing and that’s burying this dirty little secret today.
I release her once he has her in his grip. He stalks away with her. My gaze falls to the stack of bills on the dresser—money she’ll never touch again.
“You lied to me,” I tell him, bitterness creeping into my tone. “My entire life I thought you were devoted to my mother.”
“Don’t be an idiot,” he bites out. “You know your mother slept with Niles fucking Nikolaides of all people.”
I couldn’t understand it before. How she’d even step out of her marriage in the first place. But now I wonder. Did she know about my father’s whores? Was she trying to hurt him like he hurt her?
“When did you take your first whore after marriage?” I ask, my voice deadly and cold.
He glowers at me and his jaw clenches. My eyes skirt over to the pillow beside him. My mother’s pillow. A smear of Lyssa’s lipstick taints the pillowcase. A framed picture of my mother on the nightstand faces the bed as though she’s punished even in death to take my father’s abuse.
“This is none of your business,” he says, cutting through my thoughts.
Slamming my gaze back on his, I crack my neck. “Everything’s my business now.”
His nostrils flare at my words. The double meaning behind them. “I’m still in charge here,” he seethes. “You’re my son, but you mustn’t forget who built this empire from the ground up.”
His skin is grayish and his muscle tone is gone. Father is nothing but a decaying bag of bones. It’s a wonder his dick still works because his legs sure as fuck don’t. He’s a pathetic excuse for a man lying in his bed, unable to do a goddamn thing but listen to what I have to say.
“You’re not in charge,” I state coolly. “I’ve been running this shit ever since the accident last year.”
“Accident? Your mother’s attempted murder was an accident?”
“You provoked her,” I bark.
“You’re insane, boy.”
I crack my neck again before sliding my jacket off and draping it over the back of his wheelchair. His eyes track my movements. When I unbutton my shirt at the cuff, he narrows his gaze.
“You’re going to beat an old man up? What kind of son are you?” Despite his rage, fear glimmers in his eyes.
I slowly roll my sleeve up to my elbow. The muscles in my forearm flex and the veins throb with the need to inflict pain.
“You’re my father,” I hiss. “I’d never strike you.”
He relaxes some, but his weary gaze remains fixed on my actions. I take my time rolling up my other sleeve as well.
“This is my empire, Kostas. I am the Demetriou name. You can’t forget that,” he tells me with false bravado.
“What happens when you’re gone?” I ask, already knowing the answer. “That’s right, everything goes to me.”
“To both my sons,” he lies.
Now that I don’t have the alcohol buzzing through me and wreaking havoc on my brain, I took the time this morning to analyze every facet of my life. According to our family attorney, I’m still listed as sole heir to the hotels, the Demetriou fortune, everyfuckingthing.
“I used to think loyalty was the backbone of our family name.” I make a tsk of disapproval. “I was wrong. It’s lies. Lies are woven into every aspect of our lives like fucking snakes in a garden.” I smile at him. “It’s time to cut the head off the biggest viper in the nest.”
“You won’t cut me open like I’m one of our victims in the cellar,” he growls. “I know you better than that, Kostas. In case you’ve forgotten, I’m your father. We’re exactly the same.”
“You’re right,” I admit. “I won’t make you bleed.” My gaze drifts to my mother’s picture. “But where you’re wrong is that we’re not the same. You may have destroyed Mamá, but you will not destroy me.” I flash the picture a sinister smile. “This is for what you couldn’t finish, Mamá. I heard your dying wishes loud and clear. I won’t let you down.”
“What the f—”
Father’s words are silenced when I reach across him to grab Mamá’s pillow that’s stained with another woman’s lipstick. I shove the fluffy pillow down on his face. His attempts to drag the pillow away and then trying to hit at me are futile. I’m a monster. A motherfucking fire-breathing beast. He’s a lowly snake in the grass waiting to be stomped on. With my eyes on my mother’s picture, I smother my father with her pillow. He should have died when she shot him. It’s my duty to end the disloyal bastard’s existence. My father struggles for longer than I expect given his weakened state. I’ll give him that. At one time, I thought he was the most powerful man in the world. I fucking looked up to him. And the way he looked after Mamá and loved her was admirable.
Lies.
All lies.
Mamá may have broken my heart when she killed herself, but she opened my eyes. She tugged on the veil of deception my father had slipped over my head. She made me see there was more to life than money and mayhem.
Love.
She wanted me to see that love was more important than so called loyalty.
It was hard to believe considering she’d deceived my father, but now learning he was the root of everything, I feel as though I finally understand her message.
Love is everything.
Love is loyalty and forgiveness and hope.
The rest is just bullshit.
I’m not sure how long I hold the pillow over Father’s face, but when he’s stopped moving for some time, I pull the pillow away and gently put it back where it goes beside him. His eyes are glazed over but still open. I slide my fingers down over his lids, closing them. When I check his pulse, I learn he’s, in fact, dead.
I feel nothing.
Not victory or sadness.
Fucking nothing.
Once I undo my sleeves, I pull my jacket back on. I grab the picture of my mother and then head downstairs. As I wait for Adrian to return to pick me up, I make some coffee and sit in the kitchen on a barstool. My mind drifts to times when Mamá would busy herself in here, despite the fact we had a cook, and try to give us some semblance of a normal life. She’d sing and teasingly brush flour on my nose as we baked together whenever Father was away on business. I loved those simple moments with her. When I forgot I was destined to be a mob boss and could just be her little boy. Back when I would dream of racing cars in Monte Carlo and surfing with sharks. I was innocent and my father ripped that innocence away from me no matter how hard my mother clutched me to her, trying to preserve it.
I’m not innocent anymore.
But it doesn’t mean I can’t be the man my mother would have wanted me to be.
I’ll never be good, that’s for damn sure. I’ll be good enough for love, though, just as she would have wanted. I’m good enough for Talia. And one day soon I’ll find her.
“Good afternoon,” Tammy, a nurse of Father’s, greets as she enters. “How’s Ezio?”