Page 24 of All Your Lies (All or Nothing #2)

“All I’m interested in is a name from the ledger,” I say, rubbing the back of my head.

Scars litter my body as a reminder of the day I almost lost my life.

The sensation of the makeshift blades piercing my skin ruthlessly and repeatedly still lingers.

If it wasn’t for Vic, I’d be six feet under.

“They received a wire transfer the day I was almost stabbed to death in prison. Not to mention a fuck ton of other times someone either got hurt or died.”

“I can answer that,” Marco says as he walks in the door.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” I ask over my shoulder.

“What, you thought you could have a party and not invite me? I followed our brother in.” Marco points at Vic.

“I’m not your fucking brother.”

“We can work on that,” Marco smiles before looking over at our father. “Sorry, Pop, someone new is in charge now, and I must keep in step. Plus, you’ve always been a fucking dick,” he says, before directing his attention back to me. “I’m assuming you’re talking about Nohl?”

“Yeah, how’d you know?” I say, looking over at my brother.

“Secrets are my specialty, worth more than money, as you know,” he says with a sigh.

“After Pop sent you in, I started following him and going through his shit. I wasn’t sure when we talked on Halloween night, but now I know for sure.

He calls favors in to Nohl, which means zero in Russian by the way, when he wants someone taken care of in and out of the Mafia. ”

The mention of Russia tightens a knot of unease in my stomach. If Alexander Petrov was part of this I would hope he would mention it with our newfound partnership. This is something I’ll have to figure out later.

Then, the rest of what Marco says filters in, and my head whips in my father’s direction. “You’re killing off people within the families? Are you fucking insane?” I gaze back at my brother. “How long has this been going on?”

“Since before we were born.”

“Does anyone else know?”

My head is spinning right now at the information. I harbored suspicions, but the evidence never quite solidified into undeniable proof… until now.

“Nah, he kept his deplorable deeds under wraps.”

“Anything else we need to know?” I ask, not taking my eyes off my piece-of-shit father. I knew he was dirty, but I didn’t know he had it in him to kill off members of the organization that we consider family.

“Well, he attempted to kidnap Rosie.” Vic jumps up from his seat.

“When?”

“It was during the time she was in that town with you,” Marco says.

“I fucking knew it, you motherfucker. They almost broke her arm and nearly killed Jess!” Vic yells.

“She was to be brought back to me. Where she belongs,” my father seethes, as if kidnapping his own daughter is low on the meter of bad things to do.

“And what if they decided not to hold up to their end of the deal and took her, or worse, killed her?” Vic questions as he moves closer to my father.

“It was worth the risk of getting her away from you.”

“I’m going to fucking kill you,” Vic snarls.

“Before anyone makes a move, there’s more,” Marco looks at our father. “He put a hit on Alexa’s father. I was able to stop it, but shit wasn’t cheap.”

I massage my temples. The shit is just stacking up in front of me. “Anything else?”

“Uncle George... he had him killed.”

I gaze over at my father. “You killed your twin brother? For what, exactly? He was a fucking saint.”

When he says nothing, Marco continues. “Another hit was placed, but I haven’t been able to figure it out yet. It was for a fuck-load of money.”

“Fucking perfect,” I mutter as I drag my palms down my face.

“Are you willing to help us out? One good deed before it all ends?” Marco asks our father.

When he stays silent, I decide I don’t want to be in here, in this house, in this office, in his presence any longer.

“Did you bring everything?” I gaze at Vic as I rise from my seat, pull my jacket off, and fold it over the back of the chair.

A heavy duffel bag lands at my feet. The weight and contents clang ominously, a sound that raises my anticipation and sends a shiver of excitement through me, prompting me to roll up the sleeves of my dress shirt.

“You brought party favors?” Marco asks Vic.

“Only the best for your dear old dad,” Vic says with a sadistic smile before unzipping the duffle and pulling out tools and rope.

My father’s self-preservation finally kicks in as he jumps from his chair, surprisingly quick for a sick, dying man.

“I’ll tell you everything you need to know,” he gasps.

“Start talking.”

“Once I’m somewhere far away and safe, I will tell you everything.”

My laugh catches him off guard. “Good one. Tell me now, or you die.”

“Not until I’m somewhere safe.”

He won’t tell me shit if he leaves here now. I know it, and so does he.

“Nah, I think I got all the answers I need.” I smirk. “What about you, Vic? You need any more answers?”

“Nope, I’m leaving for my honeymoon in about two hours. We need to speed this up. I miss my bride.”

“Marco?”

He stares at our father for a beat before shaking his head. “I’m good.”

“How dare you do this to me! I gave you everything, Marco, everything! For you to fuck it all up,” he says, spit flying from his mouth and his face red with anger.

“This is the first right decision I’ve made since the day I killed that person.” He gazes over at me. “I tried to turn myself in, but he wouldn’t let me. He said he’d send Rosie and Mom to the Stockade if I didn’t fall in line.”

My insides quake at the information. Marco was protecting them. He was going to send my mom and sister into the sex trafficking ring if Marco didn’t go along with his plan? I clench and unclench my fists multiple times to get my fury under control.

The Stockade was the first business I set fire to after I saved all the women. It always made me sick when he would take Marco and me there in our teens. It was my father’s highest income stream, so it was the cherry on top of the cake when I burned it to the ground.

I hand them the rope. “Tie his ass to the chair.”

My father puts up a pathetic fight, just like the pitiful man he is.

“What’s the matter? You had no problem testing torture tactics on us as children to strengthen us, as you liked to say. It’s time you get to experience a taste of the hell you inflicted on us.”

Marco attempts to cover his mouth, but I stop him. “I want to hear him scream. Hold his head back,” I say, observing my father’s terrified eyes. “A tooth for every year I was caged like a fucking animal.”

Marco holds his head back by his forehead while I grab his lower jaw and chin.

I can’t help but smirk as his gurgled screams pierce the air. It’s a pleasant contrast to the agonized cries he used to extract from us.

I grab a pair of pliers from the array of tools Vic brought. My father struggles against our hold. His skin is flush with perspiration, and the putrid scent of urine fills my nostrils. Disgusting .

As I squeeze the grips, the sharp sound of his tooth cracking fills the air, signaling my cue to rip it out.

The hole releases a captivating shade of bright red, leaving a trail down the side of his mouth and onto his pristine white button-down.

His pleas and tears fall on deaf ears as I continue, not relenting until his mouth is nearly toothless and a river of red runs down his chin.

I glance at Vic, motioning for him to have his turn. He deserves this just as much as I do.

He walks around and grabs a heavy machete. “I’d like to make this painful, slow, and something that lasts for hours, but I have a flight to catch and children to make,” he says with a light in his eyes I only see when he speaks of my sister.

I roll my eyes, the disturbing images of him and my sister that he conjures making me cringe, but I let him have his moment.

Vic grabs my father’s wrist and places his hand on the desk. My father promptly places his fingers into a fist, no doubt knowing what’s coming. Vic slams his hand on the mahogany wood desk repeatedly until he opens it up and his palm is flat.

“This isn’t for me,” Vic says as he looks into my father’s eyes. “This is for the daughter who never got the father she deserved.”

The machete whistles through the air before chopping off four fingers at once.

Bright red blood squirts across his desk.

Vic grabs a few mutilated fingers and crams them into my father’s mouth, even as he attempts to spit them out.

My father is shaking and looks to be on the cusp of passing out.

The metallic smell of blood permeates the office.

I ought to have a twinge of remorse. However, only satisfaction is present.

Vic places the weapon on the table and grabs my father’s shoulder, who is now fading fast and scarcely conscious. “It’s been nice, Hector. I’ll see you in hell.” He gives both Marco and me a salute before walking out of the office.

“Fuck, remind me not to get on his bad side.”

“You can leave, and I’ll finish this.” I gesture to the poor excuse of a father with his head lolled to the side, his severed fingers still in his mouth.

“No. I want this,” he says, surprising the hell out of me.

He used to leave before partaking in the dirty work. He grabs our father’s head by his hair and angles his head up straight.

“It was always going to come to this moment right here. You ruined our lives and so many others. Have fun in hell, Pop.”

My eyes go wide as he takes a letter opener that lies on top of a stack of forgotten papers before plunging it into the side of our father’s neck. Marco removes it, then plunges it back in. Again and again. I finally grab his arm once our father is long since dead and his neck mangled to a pulp.

Marco went into a trance as he repeatedly stabbed him. He was panting, shaking, and whispering unintelligible words.

It’s then I realize he might have had it just as hard, or harder, than I did, which is fucking with me since our father doted on him. He was the golden son. But was he? Or was he just another one of my father’s victims?

“I’ll call this in. Why don’t you go get cleaned up?” I say, looking at his shirt and slacks, red splatter covering his entire front.

He nods his head as he walks to the door. He hesitates before looking back at me.

“I’m sorry.” Those are his only departing words before he leaves me with the dead pile of shit.

I sit on my father’s dark leather sofa and light a blunt. I need serenity to replace my anxious elation. Even though I feel a weight lift as I take in my father’s lifeless form, another sits with more pressure at the prospect of something worse waiting to take us out.

My thumb hovers over Alexa’s father’s number, but I hesitate, deciding to check Alexa’s location instead, as I do several times a day. The necklace was a special gift but also included a tracker. As long as she keeps it on, I have peace of mind, to an extent.

After everything Marco informed us of, it seems the necklace was fitting. As was the anklet I gave Rosie as a wedding gift, which also carries a tracker that Vic monitors.

The only time either of the trackers don’t work are in Alexa’s place, thanks to her not-so-stupid friend.

Trey asked for Jenna’s details, and I gave him what I had to offer, which was limited.

I’m glad she caught his eye. Now he can do some of the work and report back to me with his findings.

Something isn’t right. She doesn’t exist from what I’m able to find.

It’s like she fell from the sky or some shit.

Alexa’s currently at home since I’m unable to see her. I daydream about what she’s doing. Probably cursing me to the pits of hell.

I’ve been racking my brain at what I can do to get her to come around. At some point, she will need to help me run everything. Especially her father’s legacy, which I know she cares about deeply, but refuses to do so with me by her side.

I linger over the candid wedding photos I took, her unawareness making them even more precious. She’s breathtakingly beautiful. I tried to persuade her to come home with me last night, with no success.

My finger hovers over her father’s number. I need to inform him and the rest of the heads about the findings. I will not keep them in the dark like my father did. That’s not how I want to roll.

As a boss, I thrive off respect and honesty. How can I expect that of them if I don’t give it in return?