Page 59 of A Touch of Fate

She nodded but didn’t look convinced. “I’ll just get ready, then I’ll be back.”

“I don’t need constant supervision. There’s no alcohol in the house that I could access.” The idea that Dad had locked his collection of expensive whiskies and bourbons in a safe because of me made me feel horrible.

I closed my eyes, but after a while, my pulse began racing, and my throat felt tight, so I opened my eyes again and continued staring at the ceiling. I really wanted a drink with Dad. It was our tradition to end the evening with a tumbler filled with exquisite spirits.

The sound of Emma’s wheelchair made me turn my head. “My father and I had the tradition of ending our evening with a good glass of whisky. It’s how we always bonded even after an argument.”

“You’ll find new traditions and new ways to bond.”

“It doesn’t work with a glass of water or a green smoothie,” I muttered, feeling really angry all of a sudden. Emma stretched out beside me and put her hand on my chest.

“I know it feels like you’re giving up too much right now, but you’re gaining more. You’re gaining control and health.”

“And I get to keep you and our baby. That’s my price for giving up alcohol.”

Emma leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to my cheek. “I’ll be by your side every step of the way. Even when it gets hard.”

I nodded and stroked her cheek. My headache had worsened and was impacting my vision.

“Let’s sleep,” Emma suggested. She turned off the lights. Despite my pulse picking up once again, I didn’t ask her to turn it back on. Whatever was happening with my body, I could handle it.

My hands were bloody. The knife I was clutching was bloody. My clothes were bloody.

So much blood.

A scream sounded, followed by pleading.

I looked up from my hands. Renato was chained to a chair. His body was covered in cuts and burns, and skin was missing in parts. “Stop. Please stop. I don’t know anything. Have mercy.”

He pleaded with me. I was the one torturing him.

I wanted to stop, but my hand with the knife moved toward his chest. I couldn’t stop it. The moment the tip of my knife bored into his skin and slid beneath the upper layer, he let out a hoarse scream, his features twisting in agony. Suddenly, his face morphed into that of Enea.

“Stop,” he cried.

“Stop,” I repeated, almost as desperate as he was. But I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. I watched myself torture my friend like a bystander, unable to help him, unable to protect him from myself.

“Samuel!”

My cheek stung.

“Samuel.” My eyes opened to brightness, the contorted face of Enea dissipating and Emma’s pale face taking form in front of me. She looked horrified.

I sat up and raised my hands before my face, turning them over and over. They were covered in blood. I looked around for the knife. But there was none. I shoved to my feet and searched the floor, then checked my bloody hands again.

“Samuel, what are you doing?”

“Where is the knife?”

Emma gave me a pained look. “There is no knife here. Your gun is in the drawer of your nightstand, and you left your knives downstairs.”

I opened the drawer where I found my gun, but no knife.

I moved into the bathroom, desperate to wash my hands, but when I looked at them this time, they were clean. No sign of blood. I was covered in sweat, and my hair was drenched. Slowly, I walked back into the bedroom. Emma perched on the edge of the bed, watching me with concern.

I sank down on my side. I needed a moment to gather myself. The linens and covers were damp from my sweat.

“It was me who tortured Enea,” I croaked.

“You pleaded and screamed.”

A knock sounded. I jerked to my feet and drew my gun. “Come in.”

My father poked his head in. I lowered my gun. Mom stepped out from behind Dad’s back.

“Everything okay?” Dad asked.

“I had a nightmare,” I said, realizing nothing had actually happened. It had felt more real than any dream before.

Mom came in and quietly talked to Emma, who nodded. Mom gave me a shaky smile before she moved back out. “Will you be okay?” Dad asked Emma.

“Yes,” she said firmly.

Dad met my gaze, concern shining in his brown eyes. I gave him a firm nod, and he nodded in turn, then took Mom’s hand and led her out. After they’d left, I took another shower.

“Do you want me to change the linens?” I asked Emma.

She shook her head. “We can do it in the morning. It’s almost four anyway. My side is dry. You could put towels over yours. Or we take the spare blanket from the wardrobe.”

I leaned over her and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “I won’t sleep again. I’ll go watch something downstairs.”

“Do you want me to come with you?”

“You need your sleep.” I gently caressed her belly before I walked out.

I sucked in a deep breath and made my way downstairs, where I grabbed a Coke from the fridge and downed it in one draw, then walked back out of the kitchen. My gaze lingered on the door to Dad’s office. I knew the safe was impossible to break open, yet a desperate part of me wanted to try.

Just one sip.

One fucking sip.

I could simply head out for a drink. There was a bar not too far from here. Maybe they were still open. Or I could go to Renato. He always had enough liquor at home.

I closed my eyes. I promised Emma. I wouldn’t risk losing her because of this weak voice in my head. I was stronger than an addiction.

I stopped and took a deep breath. My hands became clammy, and my heartbeat picked up for no fucking reason. Dammit. I’d had a slower pulse when being shot at, and here, my body was acting up because of a drink.

I’d go to the living room and wait for morning. In a day or two, I’d be through the worst. At least, that was what I hoped.

“Can’t sleep?” Dad asked as he appeared at the end of the hallway.

“I could, but I won’t,” I said simply and strode toward him. The hallway ended in the entry, where Dad waited for me.

He was still in his pajamas like me. “Want some company?”

I nodded. I wanted to do this alone, but I knew I needed all the help I could get. Dad and I moved into the living room together and sat on the couch across from the TV. Dad picked up the remote. “What do you want to watch?”

“Something that distracts me.” Dad zapped through several streaming platforms before he settled on a cooking show. I slanted him a confused look. “A cooking show?”

He shrugged and settled against the backrest. “Watching other people cook delicious meals calms me.”

“Do you have a secret identity as a chef?”

Dad chuckled. “I can’t cook to save my life. But I like eating.”

I patted the small belly he’d developed again over the past year. He was still in much better shape than the majority of men his age, but he’d definitely enjoyed food a bit too much recently. Maybe because he’d given up cigarettes for many months—until yesterday. “I can tell.”

Dad scowled at me. “Careful,” he said, playing offended. “Your mother likes it. The dad bod is all the rage now.”

I scoffed. “Sure. Mom’s just happy you finally gave up cigarettes.” I really hoped yesterday hadn’t set him back again.

“Your mother is still very pleased with me in every regard.”

The way he said it made it clear he was referring to their sex life, something Dad usually never did.

Maybe late-night talks in dire situations had that effect. I grimaced. “Thanks, Dad. Now I definitely have other images than a glass of bourbon in my head.”

Dad kept his eyes on the screen where someone cracked eggs into water that he was spinning around with a spoon.

No clue what he was trying to accomplish there.

Maybe a fancy way to make scrambled eggs.

“You’ll get through this. Temptation will cross your path constantly in the future, but know that resisting will get easier over time. ”

Dad had tried to stop smoking several times over the years. He’d once stopped when he’d married Mom but had picked the habit up again after Serafina got kidnapped. “What do you do when you feel tempted?”

Dad glanced my way with a look of regret.

“Sometimes I give in, like yesterday, but I really wish I hadn’t.

That one cigarette really didn’t accomplish anything but worry your mother and make it harder for me.

There’s always the temptation, but mostly I’m good at resisting.

When there’s a long meeting and others start smoking.

Or after a particularly delicious meal.”

“Do you think you’ll be back to smoking constantly because you took a pull yesterday?”

Dad smiled sadly. “I’m not sure. I can tell that my body is already craving another cigarette.

I made things harder for myself. When I had a smoke after finding out Serafina was kidnapped, I was back to smoking a package a day and the second time I started smoking again as well.

Maybe some people manage to smoke only on special occasions and aren’t tempted otherwise, but I’m not one of them, and I don’t want to risk it.

Your mother would be really upset if I started smoking again, so I’m determined to let yesterday’s cigarette be the last one.

She thinks my life’s dangerous enough. I don’t need to do other things that put me in an early grave. ”

“I want to believe that I could handle drinking sporadically at some point, but I know it won’t be that way. And I don’t want to disappoint Emma.”

“You shouldn’t. She’s a good woman and soon the mother of your child.”

“What do I tell people? I always drink at functions, meetings, always. They’ll start to wonder why suddenly I don’t.”

Dad’s expression hardened. “You’ll be Underboss soon. You don’t need to justify your actions to anyone but me. And your wife. So don’t say anything. It’s not their fucking business. End of story. Maybe they’ll blame it on you becoming a father.”

I smiled. “The advantage of power.” I paused. “What about Dante?”

“Dante will certainly notice the difference, so when he asks, we’ll tell him.”

I blew out a breath. “I messed up once. Big time. He didn’t kill me, though he should have. And now I’ll disappoint him again.”

“He won’t be disappointed in you for giving up on alcohol, for making the responsible choice and taking back control. He might punish you if you keep drinking on the job and mess up, though.”

Dad had a point. I had been drunk in several dangerous situations in the past. It could have cost me and others their lives. Fuck. It had taken me way too long to ditch alcohol. I shivered, suddenly cold. Dad glanced my way. “You’ve got chills.”

Perspiration appeared on my forehead.

“I’ll be glad when this part is over,” I admitted.

“The physical withdrawal symptoms won’t be the hardest part. Your mind telling you to drink will be much harder to bear.”

I leaned my head back against the backrest. I wasn’t even sure when I’d crossed the line from occasional drinker to habitual drinker to alcoholic. What I knew with absolute certainty was that today marked the day I’d stop. For Emma.