End Game (18 page)

The guys surrounding us let out appreciative chuckles.

Suck-ups.

“Why are there bullet holes all over this place?”

“You’re sitting at the table where Carmine slaughtered Tony Rizzo, the old boss, and his entire crew.” Jamie smiles, as if reflecting on his fondest memory.

They’re all a bunch of psychopaths.
I didn’t even know there was more than one family.

Of course there is, you idiot.

Oh, Jesus. Dad, what the fuck did you get me into?

Frank grabs the back of his chair and looks at me. “Jamie, it’s possible she didn’t know about our arrangement. Her father died a few weeks ago and we’ve never seen any of his kids around him. It’s possible he never even told them about us.”

Jamie takes a huge sip of wine and slams the glass on the table. “What a fucking mess.” He slips a hand inside his jacket and I back into the chair as he points the gun straight at my heart.

“We also know that you’ve been double dealing with New York, and that shit is going to stop right now.”

“I can’t do that!”

My chest feels like a drum, pounding blood so violently that I shake from its force. Jamie’s gun aims at my face and I flinch.

“What am I supposed to do? They threatened me and my family.”

“It’s simple, Ms. Toffoli. You need to make a choice. Them or us.”

My fingernails dig into the armchairs. “Either way, I’ll die, and your fat paycheck will disappear.”

He smirks. “Then sell the company to us. Lences Holdings is owned by one of our partners. Let the sale go through, and we’ll forget about any payments owed.”

I’ll still be killed. Joe might do it himself.

The gun lies flat on the table as he takes another drink, his teeth stained purple. Even if I sold the company to them, there would be no guarantee of my safety. I could testify against them, put them in jail. I’m only safe as long as I delay the shit out of this decision.

“Choose wisely, Ms. Toffoli, and stay the fuck away from Joey DiFiore. We’ll be watching you.”

Frank shoves me from the chair and I throw my hands out, connecting with a tiled floor that looks suspiciously stained with a dark red substance that can only be blood. Laughter roars around me as I get up in disgust, wiping my palms on my slacks. Somehow, I don’t really feel any fear as I’m escorted out of the place.

Just shock.

They don’t bother to put the hood on me as they drive me to some shitty area of what I’m guessing is Newark. The car stops abruptly and Frank raises his foot and kicks me out of the car. My back slams into the pavement and I wheeze as the air is knocked out of me. Smoke blows over my face as the car screams away, leaving me alone in the streets. Several passersby approach me with concerned faces.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine!” My palms are bleeding and my head still pounds from the blows.

One of them is already on the phone with police, and I limp away, terrified. “Hey, where are you going?”

“I’m fine!” I scream over and over, even when I realize I have no idea where I am or how to get back. The screams die down to whispers that I utter to myself.

Fine. You’re fine.

You’ll just have to fool both of them, that’s all. Everything will be fine.

* * *

Four sick days. Four days of looking at myself in the mirror and trying to hide the huge bruise the size of a moon crater on the side of my face with makeup. Four days of eating canned vegetables, and whatever else I can scrounge in the house because I’m too terrified to leave. Four days of ignoring all phone calls.

Dad hated me.

He must have. Why else would he put me in this position? Why would he allow all this?

Tears fall thick and fast down my swollen face, which refuses to go down. Ice only does so much. I wish I had a friend to talk to about all this. Hell, I’m even willing to talk to Nathan, but I don’t think it’s safe for anyone to know about this. Not yet.

What am I supposed to do?

I can’t go on like this forever. Eventually, I’ll have to make a choice. New York or New Jersey. Death or death.

I could talk to the police.

Yes, talking to the police might be my only viable option, but that still leaves Nathan and Jessica to the mercy of the families. And I’ll be admitting to crimes that might put me in jail for a long time. Is prison any better than death, really?

Randy the Rhino dances on the flat screen television, but looking at the bright screen hurts my raw eyes. No amount of cartoons and chocolate can disguise the fact that literally no one gives a shit about me. Despite eating an entire box of Annie’s rabbit-shaped mac ’n cheese, there’s a hole in my stomach. I feel just as hungry as I was before.

I turn the TV off and stand up from the white leather couch that I foolishly bought when I first moved in. In less than a year the whiteness lost its shine.

Stop feeling sorry for yourself and think of a plan!

A fist hammers against the door and immediately I clutch my chest, wincing against the panic seizing it. They’re already here! Shit—

Don
’
t make a sound.

“Marisa?”

Joe’s voice booms through the crack of the door and I stiffen, my arms held awkwardly at my sides. I don’t dare breathe.

“I know you’re in there. Your car is in the garage. I’m sorry for what I said, all right?”

Fuck.

The fact that he thinks I’m harboring some sort of petty grudge over his rejection makes me want to laugh.
If only.

I walk tremulously towards the door. “Go away! I’m not well!”

His fist lands with a thud on the door. “Four days, Marisa! You can’t just ignore my calls, no matter how pissed you are at me. Open the door, or I’ll let myself in anyway.”

I bristle as he rattles the doorknob. “Can’t I just have one fucking day without any of you mafia pieces of shit disturbing me?”

He slams the door. “Okay, now you really need to open the door.
Now, Marisa
!”

Fine.

If he’s here to scream at me, whatever. Get it over with. If he’s here to shoot me? Even better.

My hand trembles as I grab ahold of the golden deadbolt and unlock the door. Joe shoves the door open before I can twist the handle and slams it closed behind him. My heart squeezes at the sight of him. He’s wearing a leather jacket over a t-shirt and jeans. I’ve never really understood the whole “sight for sore eyes” expression until now. I missed him. I want him.

His eyes blaze with heat as he enters my apartment. “What the fuck—oh, shit.” His voice drops and so does the fury on his face as he reaches forward without my permission. Joe’s gentle hands cradle my face, brushing back my hair to examine the bruise. “What happened?”

I’m taken aback by the gentleness in his voice, and to my shame I feel tears stinging my eyes. His fingers press into the back of my head and a dull pain throbs inside me. I pull away with a small yelp and he removes his hands, looking stricken.

“Jesus, they fucked you up.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Your brother did this, didn’t he?”

“No!” I brush past him into the living room, not surprised when he follows me. I sink into the couch cushions and Joe joins me, his thigh pressing against mine. My heart kicks up again as he turns towards me.

“All this time, I thought you were just pissed at me,” he says in a low voice, guilt written all over his face. “What happened?”

My eyes flit away from his intense gaze. “I got jumped. They stole my wallet.”

“And they punched your head?” He quirks an eyebrow and glances at the kitchen counter. My wallet lies there, plain as day. “Nice try. Your wallet is right there.”

Crap. I might have thought of a decent lie before inviting him in. “I—I bought a new one already.”

“So if I looked in there, I wouldn’t see a bunch of your cards in there?”

“N—no.”

He gets up, giving me a suspicious look as he strides to the counter. I stand up, heart hammering. “No, don’t—it’s none of your business!”

The wallet flips open, revealing all of my cards. He looks at me with a strained grin. “Why the fuck are you lying to me?”

I sit down on the couch, clam-like.
You fell down stairs. You ran into a pole. Got into a bar fight.
Excuses, lies, and alibis run through my head, each one feebler than the last.

“Was it an ex-boyfriend?”

I shake my head and he approaches the couch again, sitting beside me. It’s hard to be next to him without feeling that fluttering heat, without wanting to trust him. He gently takes my chin, turning it slightly to see the extent of my injury.

“Marisa, I need you to tell me who did this.”

“Why? So you can tell the police?”

The darkness in his eyes terrifies me. “So I can make sure he never does it again.”

I tremble from the heat in his voice and wonder why he cares so much. Then I look at the coffee table. It’s strewn with crap—mostly empty candy wrappers and bottles of beer. At the center of it all is a framed photo of my dad. He wears a small smile, his eyes twinkling at the camera almost apologetically.

My throat is thick and I can’t see him anymore. Everything is a blur. I blink and my vision clears, tears scalding my cheeks. My chest heaves and I gasp for breath, and before I know it I’ve collapsed into my hands. I’m just overwhelmed with all this shit. The grief from my dad’s passing, it’s still there, but it’s so fucking complicated now.

“Marisa
, tell me what happened
.” He sounds as if he’s in pain.

“
No
.”

“If you don’t, I’ll go to your brother,” he says in a raw voice.

I gasp into my hands. “
Please
just let this go.”

“How the fuck am I supposed to let this go? Look at you! This is my
job
!”

“If I’m just a job to you, then leave,” I say in a thick voice.

My face hurts so badly that the tears feel like they’re being squeezed out. I feel like shit. Joe sits beside me, sighing with frustration. He wants to help me, and I want to believe him. I want so badly to tell him—to tell
someone
, but I can’t breathe a word, no matter how bad it gets. I turn towards my hands and bury my face in them again. I gasp for breath and sob into them, never feeling so miserable and alone as I do now. The weight of the whole world crashes on my shoulders. I just want to lie down and never get up again.

The hostility evaporates from his voice. “Come here.”

He just sounds sad.

I fall into the comforting warmth of his chest, pulled in by his strong arms. He even takes my legs and they drape across his lap. God, he’s so warm. I turn my head into the crook of his neck and breathe in his sharp male scent. It soothes me. His hands move over my thighs, gently caressing.

“This had nothing to do with our end, did it?” His voice wavers slightly and he clears his throat. “Right?”

“No, it didn’t,” I say into his chest, which expands suddenly and exhales.

“Why can’t you tell me, then?”

“Don’t pretend like you care.”

“Do you think I’d be here, holding you like this if I didn’t?”

A tingling sensation spreads over my skin when he brushes back a strand of hair.

He said no strings.

“Why?” I whisper it into his chest, but somehow he hears me anyway.

“You need someone.”

It’s true. Maybe I am transparent to everyone. Maybe I’m just a poor, pathetic, whiny girl, but right now I’m glad he’s with me.

The urge to confess grows stronger inside me, building up in a storm of tears. “I don’t want to do this anymore,” I choke. “I can’t handle it—I just want to disappear.”

His voice is as taut as a wire. “You don’t mean that.”

“Oh, but I do. My dad died and it’s been a nightmare ever since. There’s no hope, no end in sight. I just want to go to sleep and not wake up again.” The secret desire in my heart—to be sleeping next to my dad. I never thought it consciously, but now I am. To sleep forever—it seems like such a nice thing.

His fingers bite into my arms. “Do not say that.”

“You don’t understand what I’m going through.”

“Yes, I do.”

How could he understand?

When he continues, it’s in a voice removed of all emotion. “Eight months ago, my sister was murdered.”

My heart freezes in my chest, and I unstick my face from his chest to look at him. He looks just like how his voice sounds: dead.

“She was shot accidentally in a store that was being robbed. She was unlucky, you know. Just at the wrong place at the wrong time.” He pauses for a moment and shuts his eyes. “I thought my world was ending. She was my best friend, and I still don’t know how to go on without her. I’m still trying to figure that out. After she died, the world didn’t make sense anymore. I didn’t think I could ever laugh again.”

I take his hand in mine, touched by the love he still feels for his sister. A hollow feeling expands in my chest, swallowing all of my misery. I can’t even imagine what that must have been like for him. His hooded eyes look so sad.

“I know what it’s like to be overwhelmed with loss. You didn’t just lose your dad, you lost your siblings, and the job you thought you had—the respect you held for your dad. That doesn’t mean your life is over, Marisa. It doesn’t mean you’ll never laugh again.”

“Sometimes, it feels like that.”

Them or us.

Jamie’s voice hisses in my ear and I feel a sudden flash of pain accompanied by a wave of heat. I wince and grab the icepack sitting on the table to hold it to my burning face. Nauseating dread fills my stomach, and even Joe’s reassuring hands don’t make me feel better.

“You’re in deep with someone. I’m going to find out eventually, Marisa.”

Every part of me singes wherever he touches my skin. He massages the base of my neck. “I can’t.”

His fingers ball into my hair as he lets out a forceful sigh. “You’re driving me fucking crazy.”

“Sorry.”

“This isn’t just about a job I have to do for Jack. If someone did something like this to my sister, I’d destroy them.”