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Every gulp of whiskey goes down smoother than the one before. I can’t remember the last time I got drunk—buzzed and tipsy, sure. That’s the thing about me. I like control. A man as powerful as me can never have a vice that he can’t control, and I’ve always prided myself on knowing when enough is enough. Tonight, I seem to have lost sight of that mark.
That doesn't stop me from getting up and pouring another drink once I've drained my glass. I’m fucked. Completely lost without my little bird. She’s made a mess of me. If only she had come back tonight. I wouldn't have to live with the dread of what he might be saying to her at this very minute. The ground beneath us is so fragile to know her father may be planting lies in her head. If not lies, then theories and assumptions. He's always assumed so much about me. Never knew who the real me was—to be fair, I didn’t want to know him, either.
She sees him plainly, that much I know. She sees how far he's fallen, and is skeptical enough not to take his accusations at face value. Isn't she? The unknown terrifies me. I guess this is what it's all about, as miserable as it is. Trust. It’s never been one of my stronger qualities. That's what happens when you've been burned time and again so many times you lose faith in people. Not only in women, though women haven’t proven themselves trustworthy to me in the past. It’s anyone that has the power to take what I give them and rip it apart.
Bianca wants freedom. She wants my trust. I want her. It doesn’t take a scientist to figure out the formula. If there’s any hope of having and keeping her, I must meet her halfway. Will any of that matter though, once the truth is out? Once she discovers I told her father about us? I should’ve given her a heads-up.
There isn't enough whiskey in the bottle to blot out that question, which echoes in the back of my mind. Will this be the final lie that breaks us forever?
Every tick of the clock is another moment he could be filling her head with lies about me. More than ever, he'll want to keep us apart. He's going to be dead set on hurting us. Hurting me, most of all. I shouldn't have pussed out like I did, telling myself it was for the best, that it would hurt her to hear what condition he was in. When will I ever learn? Honesty is easier, even if it hurts the other person to hear.
It’s dark now, the grounds quiet. My empire, one built on blood. The blood of the innocent and guilty alike. If Bianca’s mother is one of those innocents, who’s to say how many others might have flown under my radar all these years? I stare out the window after grabbing the bottle of whiskey from the bar, knowing I’ll need it again soon enough.
Was any of this genuinely worth it? If I lose her, I might as well give it all up. I don’t know how I can continue to breathe, much less continue running my business, if I lose the promise of her love.
“How long have you been drinking?”
I turn away from the window, glass in one hand, bottle in the other. Romero’s watching from the doorway. His gaze falls on the bottle, then the glass. “Were you planning on leaving any, or did you want to empty the bar all at once?”
My heart takes off despite his arrogant attitude. He’s the other person I’ve been waiting for, and it took him long enough to return. “Don't worry about that. Did you get it?”
“Yeah. I got it.”
I lift my brows, waiting, but he’s too busy staring at me. “Hand it the fuck over. Christ, what are you waiting for?”
He doesn't move. He just stands there, watching me as I walk to my desk, waiting to read the report I sent him to obtain. I am still determining exactly how he did it. As usual, he didn't give me many details. Plausible deniability. “You kept me waiting for hours as it is.”
“Sometimes, these things take maneuvering. I can’t barge into the police station and throw a wad of cash at somebody. There’s stipulations, negotiations, rules.”
He approaches the desk, studying me rather than doing what I’ve ordered. “How much have you had to drink?”
“I told you—”
“I know what you told me. I’m asking for an answer of how much?” He eyes the bottle I set on the desk, scowling. “And this isn’t me scolding you, but we both know this isn't like you.”
“You're wasting my time.”
His gaze snaps away from the bottle and lands on me again. “How's Tatum been today? Have you even gone to see her? Checked in on her? Or were you planning on drinking yourself to death in this room?”
