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“Damn,” he mutters. “But at least you weren’t on the mountain with him.”
My laughter is instant and intense, and my cheeks balloon to try and stem it. Fail. Air gushes out of me and, thank God, Otto chuckles too, letting his T-shirt down. “I’ve told your mother I was in a motorcycle accident.”
What a way to kill the fucking buzz. Remind me that my mother has seen his aging chest. I’m being spiteful, of course. Otto is a prime specimen of an older man. But no son wants to imagine their mother going there. “Anything else?” I ask, as Brad continues to chuckle to himself.
“Yeah.” Otto heads toward the door. “I need to talk to you about something.”
“What?”
“I’ll speak to you later.” The door slams, and I stand.
“I’m busy later,” I yell, still not over the fact that my mum and that hairy beast are a thing. “In fact, I’m busy forever.”
“You really need to take your head out of your ass,” Brad says. “He’s fucking your mom.”
“I’ll be fucking you up in a minute.” I bury my fists in the wood of the desk. “Leave you fucking brain-dead, Brad. What do you say? That’ll solve your little problem of thinking about things you shouldn’t be thinking about, won’t it?”
He rolls his eyes and gets us both a drink. “Sit down, you animal.”
I snatch the drink from his hand and drop to the seat. “Thanks.”
“I get it, Danny.” He takes a chair opposite. “But I kind of don’t either.”
“What are you talking about? My mum? Otto? Pearl?”
He rolls his eyes. “Pearl is a non-issue.”
“If you say so.”
“I fucking say so.”
“Okay, okay.” I submit, a hand up in surrender. He looks adamant about that. Good.
“You didn’t know my mom very well,” Brad goes on.
I vaguely remember her. A tall woman, with platinum-blond hair and a curvy body. She died a couple of years after Carlo Black brought me to Miami. Not much was said about it. Brad already lived at the house with her, and things seemed to carry on like normal after she was gone. I know nothing about his father, though.
“Carlo killed my dad,” Brad says, and I lean back in my chair, trying not to show my shock.
“Why?”
“For making her sad.”
“What?”
“He cheated on her. Constantly. But she loved him, so she stayed.” He shrugs, like it’s nothing, and I know it really isn’t. “She was a bombshell. Uncle Carlo told me he was constantly batting the men off, warning them away.” He smiles fondly. “She looked just like Marilyn Monroe.”
I smile too. Yeah, she really did.
“She met my dad, fell head over heels, and there was nothing Carlo could do about it. Not until he wronged her. Mom knew Uncle Carlo would butcher my dad if he found out, so she protected him. She slowly became less vivacious, less happy, less alive. Then one day when I was eight, I walked in on Dad fucking the maid, and I ran out the house. Uncle Carlo found me on the docks. I told him what had happened. Mom begged Carlo to leave things alone, but he knew she’d never leave him. Weak. Uncle Carlo didn’t like weak, so he removed the thing that was making someone he loved weak.” He smiles again, but now it’s sad. “He told Mom my dad had left town, but we knew. Of course we knew.”
Fuck. Me.
Brad doesn’t want to be his father. He doesn’t want to hurt a good woman. Makes fucking sense now. He doesn’t trust himself.
“Why have you never told me?”
He shrugs. “What was the point? Dad was gone, then she was gone.”
