Total pages in book: 197
Estimated words: 199143 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 996(@200wpm)___ 797(@250wpm)___ 664(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 199143 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 996(@200wpm)___ 797(@250wpm)___ 664(@300wpm)
His sisters were long gone—one dead.
Wasn’t that enough?
Tommas sure thought it was.
Shaking off those depressing thoughts, Tommas picked up the quarter again. He flicked it between his pointer finger and thumb, making it spin across the table. The whirl of the coin drew his gaze in, allowing him to focus on his current task and not his past.
Tomorrow, he would start making plans to steal Abriella away for the day. She deserved it after the hellish month she had. He wasn’t all too worried about his plans being spoiled—it wasn’t the first time he had pulled something like that off with his girl.
And, of course, Abriella was smart as hell.
She didn’t mind playing those games.
A throat cleared from the kitchen entryway, making Tommas look up from the spinning coin. He snatched the coin in his palm as his father stumbled into the kitchen a little further. The sluggish movements of Laurent’s steps and the hazy eyes told Tommas that his father was likely still drunk—or he’d been drinking quite a bit and was still feeling the effects.
Tommas wasn’t even surprised.
“Tommas?” Laurent asked, blinking at his son. “What are you doing here?”
“Laurent,” Tommas greeted.
“How did you get in?”
“My key.”
Obviously.
Laurent’s brow furrowed and he stumbled to the sink. He didn’t ask Tommas any more questions as he searched for a clean glass, and poured himself a small drink of water. Then, Laurent moved to the fridge, opened it up, and searched for what he wanted within.
Tommas wasn’t the least bit surprised when his father fell down into a kitchen chair with two beers in hand. Laurent popped off the top on his before sliding a bottle down the table for his son.
“Have a drink,” Laurent mumbled sleepily.
Tommas eyed the bottle of beer with as much distaste as he could manage. He rarely drank, and when he did, it was mostly for show. He could walk around all night with the same drink in his hand, taking a sip here and there, but mostly dumping it out when someone wasn’t looking.
He didn’t even like the taste of alcohol unless it was bourbon.
And even then, Tommas was careful about how much he drank.
Addiction ran rampant in his family. He wasn’t going to be the next addict Rossi falling down that familiar rabbit hole.
No way in hell.
“No, I—”
“Don’t refuse a drink from a man inside his home, Tommy boy,” his father said.
Tommas clenched his teeth, swallowing back his anger. For one, because his father knew he didn’t like to drink. And for two, because his father called him by a nickname that he used to use when Tommas was young.
Tommy boy.
Like he was still a kid.
His little Tommy gun, Tommy boy, his father used to say.
And then he was forgotten about. Just like his sisters.
“What brought you over here tonight?” Laurent asked. His father blinked at the clock on the wall, like he was trying to discern the time. “Jesus, it’s two in the morning.”
Tommas flipped the coin in his hand, refusing to even touch the beer in front of him. “Thought we should talk about some things.”
“Like what? It couldn’t wait until there was daylight and—”
“You were sober?” Tommas interrupted.
Laurent swallowed hard. “Been a long day.”
Excuses.
Addicts were famous for them.
“Where’s Ma?” Tommas asked.
“Passed out upstairs. Probably won’t wake up until noon. What does it matter?”
Tommas was just getting his ducks in a row.
“Just wondering,” Tommas murmured. “About the restaurant ...”
Laurent sighed, cringing. He took another long pull from his beer. Tommas couldn’t help but notice the shake in his father’s hand as he lifted the bottle a little higher.
Tremors were a bitch.
The only way to get rid of them was to drink.
The next day, it started all over again.
Vicious fucking cycles.
“You had no business playing puppet to Joel and going after Riley like that,” Tommas said.
Laurent scowled at his son. “No business? Tommy, listen to yourself. It’s like you don’t even hear what you say. This family—the Rossis—will never go anywhere with Riley Conti as the fucking Outfit’s boss. Don’t you realize that?”
No, Tommas didn’t.
He didn’t think that at all.
Riley Conti was one of the few men that Tommas could actually stand to work with when it came to the Outfit and the families. The guy was shady as fuck, he could be a mean motherfucker, and he wasn’t all that great of a human being to begin with. But at the same time, Riley didn’t hide those things about himself.
Everyone who was anyone knew that Riley was a bastard.
But he was a bastard that liked Tommas.
Tommas couldn’t help that Riley didn’t like Laurent.
“You’re wrong,” Tommas said.
“With Riley as the boss, and Joel gone, you’ll still be right where you are in ten, fifteen years, Tommas,” Laurent said, sneering. “Same as me. I want you going somewhere in this fucking thing, son. Up, you know. You should be going up. And I don’t give a shit who has to be buried so that I can get you there. After all this family put me through, after everything I did for you, I deserve that, Tommas.”