Trapped in his End Game (Series)

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.NôvelDrama.Org © content.

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.”

The ferocity in his eyes fans out like flames, so much so that I tremble from their intensity. What if that violence was directed towards me? At the same time, I’m jealous. My brother would probably gloat if he saw me like this.

“Your sister was lucky to have a brother like you.”

His eyes glaze over and he abruptly stands up from the couch, turning away from me with a shuddering sigh. Did I say something wrong?

A lump rises in my throat, as he heads for the door. Please don’t go. I’m desperate to say something that’ll stall him.

“Do you want something to drink?”

The various knick-knacks on the kitchen counter rattle as he slams his fist on the marble. I’m on my feet before I realize it, raising a tentative hand to his shoulder. He throws it off roughly, and then he grabs my hands. His lip curls.

I flinch horribly and try to draw breath from a rapidly shrinking hole in my chest. I remember their rough hands on me, slapping my face. He notices my fear and a desolate look haunts his face.

“I don’t know why you’re acting like this,” he says in a desperate voice. It’s unlike him. “I’m here to help you. Why can’t you just let me?”

Because I don’t trust you yet.

“I want to, but I can’t.”

I look back towards him unblinkingly, until he lets go of my hands with a growl.

“I’ve got to go.”

My heart seizes in a way that makes me feel absolutely miserable. His feet clip over the hardwood floors as he walks to the door. I follow him as he turns around to say goodbye.

“I have to report this to Jack.”

Don’t go. Please don’t go.

My lip quivers and a tear runs down my face, and Joe looks at me like I’ve destroyed his life.

“See you soon.”

He reaches out and touches my face again, fingers brushing lightly on my bruised skin.

* * *

Make a decision.

Choose.

New York or New Jersey?

The decision seems like it would be an easy one, but both families have left behind a trail of bodies.

Carmine Lucchesi slaughters Jersey mob boss and crew

Mass-murderer Lucchesi convicted; sentenced to life

Vittorio family mobster indicted on charges of fraud, racketeering, murder

Vincent Cesare, notorious Vittorio mobster, evades jail again

I wish I could become a mouse. I want to scurry away and burrow in a soft place and just hide from everything and everyone. The light from my laptop shines with the intensity of a small sun. I close the lid and stare at my desk, extremely grateful that Joe isn’t here today.

Also weighing on my mind-the forty grand I supposedly owe. There’s another board meeting at the end of the week, where Nathan will undoubtedly push for the sale of the company.

I need to decide.

Soon.

I decide to take a stroll out of the office. Heads perk up from cubicles and chimes of greetings echo as I walk by. A forced smile stretches my face as the greetings fall on my ears. I wonder if any of them really care about me-about my dad. Was he surrounded by sycophants? Is that why he allowed the company to fall into disrepair?

Either way, my first priority will be to get the casino out of the clutches of the Vittorio family. By any means necessary. I’ll need to make some cutbacks; I probably will have to let some people go. The VP of marketing is in my crosshairs. So far, his efforts have failed to bring in more traffic into the casino. We should be at college campuses, at the airport, drumming up interest in the casino.

“Marisa, how’s it going?”

The man I met at the funeral, James Blackwell, jogs to my side as I walk along to security.

“All right,” I grunt.

“Oh my God, that’s-what happened to your face?”

“I-uh-”

His face is widened in concern, and I prepare the same excuse I’ve used on everyone else.

“I got mugged, but it’s all right. The cops chased him down and I got my wallet back.”

He lets out an incredulous noise. “How horrible!”

“Yeah, it was scary.”

I’m trying to shake off this guy before he asks any more questions, but he keeps following me.

“I was wondering if you’ve given any more thought to the offer presented to us by Lences Holdings. Have you looked at it?”

Fuck.

James follows me into security, a well-lit room with a hundred different monitors. “Yeah, I’ve looked at it. I’m still not interested.”

Disappointment flashes over his face. “But-their offer is extraordinarily generous, Marisa. Think about how much you’d make! You’re the biggest shareholder-”

“It doesn’t matter to me. It’s not about the money. I don’t trust them, and I won’t leave the company in their hands.”

If only he know what he was asking for. He takes my wrist in his hand gently and I look into his pitying eyes.

“I think you’ll find that you’re alone in that thinking.”

Unnerved by his stare, I pull my arm out of his hand and walk out the door. I hurry down the steps, ignoring the gasps thrown my way. Fucking makeup didn’t help at all.

Alone? What does that mean? Have they been convening behind my back? Fuck!

Down the stairs, the hustle and noise of the casino grinds into my ears and I step out the front doors, heading towards my parked car. I parked right under a giant floodlight, but my hands still shake as I dig into my purse for the goddamn keys. I can’t find them.

It’s a cool night, but starless. The obnoxious lights of the casino pollute the skies with colors. Not a sound. Not a whisper of anything.

Then I notice him.

A shadow shifting in between cars.

It’s just a customer returning to his car. Relax.

Right.

My heart lodges somewhere in my throat. I swallow it back down as a cold feeling creeps up my legs, stiffening them like a poison working its way through my body. He wheels around the car in front of me. I see his face. It’s Frank, the one who punched the side of my face.

He came for me.

Frank stops in front of me like a murky apparition and smiles, his eyes wandering over the side of my face as he admires his handiwork. “I believe you owe us something.”

His hip bumps against mine and I flatten against my car, hands trembling at my sides. “I have ten in the car. I can’t just withdraw that much all at once.”

“Not good, Ms. Toffoli.” Hardened eyes flash as he takes my neck in his hand and squeezes slightly. “Well? Where the fuck is it?”

I revolve on the spot, so frightened that I can’t even remember how to open my car door. Blood pounds in my head hard, making me sway.

Get a grip and open the door.

I open the door and grab the manila envelope stuffed with cash. He snatches it from me and looks inside.

“All right. You need to come with me.”

His hand flies out and grabs my neck, which is still sore from his attack. I swallow back a scream as he yanks me. My shoes scrape on the cement as I resist him. “I won’t!”

“You stupid fucking cunt,” he spits in my face. “Did you think we’d forget about this? That we’d leave you alone? All you had to do was bring the fucking money. Now I’m going to have to pay a visit to your little sister.” His voice drops to a carnivorous whisper. “She seems real sweet.”

The fingers bite into my flesh, choking off a response. My vision clouds with tears, and I think about my little sister. She was my little princess. The doll I played with. I can’t utter a word. My lungs burn and I make horrible gulping sounds as he squeezes. I have to escape. My knee launches into his stomach, and he doubles over with a harsh cry. His hand slips from my neck and I stumble from the car, dazed.

Run!

“Fucking bitch!”

My ankle twists as I lunge forward, a heavy stone block slamming into my leg. I slam into the concrete, and the skin on my hand burns, but I barely register it. I roll over, pain searing up my leg. Frank is above me, but there’s someone behind him. A man in a dark blue suit holds a gun to Frank’s head, who still hasn’t realized Joe is behind him.

“Take one fucking step towards her, and I’ll blow your head off.”

Still on the ground, I watch wide-eyed as Frank inclines his head towards Joe, sneering. Joe sounds like a completely different person, his Brooklyn accent more pronounced.

“Joey DiFiore, is it?”

“Who the fuck are you?”

“I’m from Jersey, asshole. Carmine Lucchesi wanted me to pass on a message to Vincent’s wife-”

“I have a message of my own to your boss.” His teeth grind together in a smirk. Usually his smile fills me with warmth, but this one makes me downright petrified.

He’s going to do something.

“Yeah?”

The sneer on Frank’s face doesn’t quite disappear as an explosion rips through his head. I scream at the top of my lungs as it pierces my ears. A glut of dark blood vomits from the side of his head, and he falls like a marionette with broken strings. Frank smashes face-first into the pavement, bits of flesh that look like clotted blood shining on the ground.

He killed him.

He’s dead.

I look over the corpse to Joe standing over the body with rage thickening his features. He wipes his gun with the edge of his jacket, and then he takes a tissue out of his pocket and cleans his face.

Like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

“You killed him.”

He merely looks at me. “I’ve done worse.”

Worse?

“Stop!” I cry out when he takes a step closer to me, and then I crawl on my hands and knees, screaming out in pain when I put weight on my ankle. I need to run from him.

“Stay the fuck still.”

“What the hell is wrong with you? You killed him! There are cameras everywhere around this place-”

There’s no look of horror on his face for what he’s done. No shock. No self-disgust.

He’s a fucking monster.

“I have a guy in the inside who will take care of that.” Joe tucks the gun away and looks around for witnesses, and then he kicks the manila folder. “What’s this?”

I can just imagine the look of my face as blood drains out of it. My hands shake on the pavement. “I-I can explain-”

He picks it up and gives me a suspicious look. As soon as he sees the hundreds of bills, he drops it, his face a mask of shock. “Marisa, why the fuck were you paying off guys in Jersey?”

“T-they came after me. They said my dad was involved with them, too. I had to pay them off, or die. They wanted me to sell the company-”

“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?” He screams into the night, standing over me with balled fists, looking like he’d like to kick me. “Jesus FUCKING Christ!” He paces in front of me, and aims a violent kick to the corpse at his feet, flipping him over. He rains down with horrible blows, and then he slams his fist into my car.

Oh my God.

“Do you realize what you’ve fucking done?”

“No!”