Trapped in his End Game (Series)

Can’t-I can’t. I can’t breathe.

He mouths the words, looking like a gaping fish, except blood sputters from his lips.

“Daddy! Daddy!” I scream his name like it’s a chant-a magical word that will instantly cure him if he answers.

The man standing over Daddy drops the knife. He looks confused. The other two bolt towards the door and he soon follows.

Mom’s hands are wrapped around his throat. Dark blood pulses through her fingers.

“Adriana, call 911! Go!”

My hand is clenched over my cell phone when I wake up, my head echoing with my mother’s voice. Jesus. Not again. My back is drenched with sweat and I throw back the covers, listening to Maria’s soft snore.

The agony over losing my father threatens to engulf me. Eying the mini fridge, I roll off my bed and grab the bottle of alcohol inside. I can’t remember what it is and I can’t see in the dark. It doesn’t matter what it is-as long as it burns on the way down, it’ll do. If only it could burn a hole in my head where the images were.

I pour it straight into my mouth and swallow, wincing. I’m still shivering in the dark, clutching the cold bottle to my chest. Faces, images, jump out at me. They materialize from shadows. I drink more from the bottle, a mouthful, and I cringe as it hits my stomach. It’s fast. It’s hard. I replace the bottle and stumble into bed, and this time I sleep the whole way through.

* * *

“You’re dating him now? Seriously?”

Her clothes are strewn all over the dorm. A pink suitcase sits in the middle of the room, half-filled. She’s leaving for France today, and I can’t help but feel a bit relieved. At least I’ll have two weeks away from her. Two weeks to breathe and quietly figure out what he hell I’m doing with my life. She didn’t take my failure to quit my job very well, and now I’ve basically added a cherry to the top of a steaming pile of shit by admitting I was going on a date with him.

I should have just lied.

“Not dating. I’m going on a date.”

I’m already trying to decide which dress I’ll wear, and it’s only six. Biting my lip, I try to catch Maria’s eye so that she might give me her opinion, but she just glowers.

“Look, sweetie. I know you really wanted a boyfriend-”

I roll my eyes. “Here we go.”

“-but I really think you can do better than him. I mean, seriously. He’s a mobster.”

I have a hard time looking at her because I know she’s right. I know it’s crazy. Logically, it makes no sense. How could there possibly be a future with someone like him? It doesn’t matter how little sense it makes, I’ve never felt so strongly about something I wanted in my life.

When I want something, I get it.

No amount of reasoning and pleading will make me change my mind. I touch my neck, remembering how amazing it felt when he kissed me under my jaw and down my neck; his fingers just brushed the swell of my breasts before we were interrupted.

It might be crazy. I might forever regret it, but I have to do it. What can I say? I’m stubborn.

“I’m going on this date, Maria.”

Her eyes narrow. “Whatever. I think you’re crazy for agreeing to go on a date with him.”

My face flushes as I study myself in the mirror. “Actually, I asked him out.”This is property © NôvelDrama.Org.

Bad to worse. Maria’s newly dyed hair falls forward as she drops her face in her hands and groans.

It’s easy for her to say. They’re not exactly lining up at my door, but I don’t really care. I want him. Not Steve or any of these stuck-up, rich Columbia students that I have nothing in common with. I’ll deal with the consequences, whatever they may be. She’s not even close to being done packing by the time I’m all decked out for my date with Vince.

I look at myself in the mirror and notice how pale and scared I look. I’m in a little black dress-a sexy, lacy thing with heels that tie around my ankle.

“You need blush.”

Despite her frustration with me, Maria grabs a pad of makeup from her vanity and a brush. She attacks my cheeks with the blush, the tiny bristles smoothing out the makeup. When she’s done, I look slightly less like a vampire.

“Better.”

“I’m a little nervous,” I confess in a small voice.

She barks with laughter. “You got yourself into this mess.”

“I’m not scared of him, not exactly. I’m just nervous because it’s the first date.”

The severity of her frown lightens somewhat as she looks at me. “Just be yourself, Adriana. And don’t let him push you around.”

With ten minutes to go, I throw my arms around Maria, who will be gone by the time I’m back. “Have fun in France.”

Her tiny arms squeeze my middle. “Be careful around him.”

“I will.”

My heart throbs in my throat as I leave our dorm and descend the concrete steps. My phone buzzes with a text that is probably from him. I look at it anyway.

Waiting downstairs.

He’s actually here. God, he actually showed. All of it seems like an absurd dream, even the sight of him leaning against his car in his suit, looking like a dark, handsome devil. I wonder if I am really courting disaster by dating a man like him.

The devil grins at me. His tousled black hair is styled back into rolling waves; his chin has a dusting of stubble. Vince opens the door for me and I climb inside his car, nervousness ramping up inside me like acid.

When he gets into the driver’s seat, I steal a glance at him.

Why are you afraid to look at him? You made out with him yesterday.

“Where would you like to go?” he asks as he drives past the campus.

I’ll admit that I expected him to make the plans. Where would I like to go? My mind draws up a blank. I’m used to food trucks and hot dog stands. Never have I been able to afford a meal at a nice place, unless it was on somebody else’s dime.

“Honestly, I’d never been to anything better than a chain restaurant until you brought us to that restaurant in West Village. I’m sure I’ll love whatever you pick.”

“Okay, then.” With a confident smile, he turns the car around, heading towards Midtown.

“So, what else do you do besides card games?” I ask him.

“A little of this and that. I dabble in a lot of different areas.”

It’s vague as hell answer, but who can blame him?

He sees my confusion and gives me a shrug. “What made you want to be a dealer?”

I blink. I’ve never really thought about it. “Well, it’s not like I planned it. It just happened.”

“Why do this instead of-I don’t know, being a secretary?”

I give him a smirk. “I like playing cards. Always have. My Dad taught me how to shuffle cards when I was little, and after that I played with them all the time. Dealing is a lot more fun than flipping burgers at McDonalds, which is probably what I would have ended up doing if it weren’t for you.”

“Does he know what you do for a living?”

My stomach turns. “He died many years ago,” I say in a flippant tone, but my chest constricts like there’s a python coiling around it.

His hands tighten around the wheel. “Sorry to hear that. My father’s dead, God rest his soul. A cop killed him.”

“A cop?” I exclaim.

His voice shakes with laughter. “This town’s full of crooked cops. No matter. He got his comeuppance.”

Vincent doesn’t elaborate, but his face says it all. A rather dark smile flashes on his face, chilling me to the bone. When we arrive at the restaurant, I slip my arm around his as we climb up the steps. The gilded entrance shines in the dark, and a man opens the door for us.

It’s a low-lit, white-tablecloth type of place. White gloved waiters float throughout the restaurant like ghosts. The hostess, dressed in a black cocktail dress, seems to recognize Vince the moment he walks in.

“Good evening, Mr. Cesare. I’ll find you a table.”

He simply nods his head and she stalks away. I still haven’t let go of his arm, enjoying being so close to him so much that I don’t realize how strange I must seem. Then I finally let go of his bicep and let my arm fall, but he catches my hand and squeezes.

Maybe it’s because it’s been so long since I’ve done anything remotely romantic with a man, but I know I’ll be sorry when the night ends. I barely know him, and it scares me how much I like him already.

The hostess returns with two menus and leads us through the narrow restaurant, finding a secluded table against the brick wall. Even though the restaurant is packed, it feels peaceful. Quiet. The candle burns on the white linen, lighting up his face with a soft, golden light. Vince orders a bottle of wine and I’m impressed with how quickly the sommelier appears, almost as if summoned by magic. I take a careful sip of the dark, red wine, which is pleasantly dry and rich.

Glancing over the menu, I realize that I’m befuddled by all the descriptions. Butternut agnolotti with a sage brown butter topped with amaretti and buffalo mozzarella.

I don’t know what half of it is.

“Do you want to try the tasting menu?”

“What’s that?”

He smiles wryly. “They basically give small portions of several dishes as a single meal. That way you get to try a lot of different things.”

That sounds great. “Okay, sure.”

The waiter takes our order and whisks away. I marvel at how good the service is. They materialize at my elbow and fill my glasses without asking, and then they disappear silently.

Vincent sits straight-backed, his face deceptively relaxed. I remember how quickly he sprung on the card counter at the game. His whole aura is like a coiled snake, perfectly poised to strike at all times. Dark eyes meet mine, but they regularly slide over the windows in the back, the wait staff, constantly scanning for threats.

“Did you ever go to college?”

He laughs like it’s a funny joke. “No. I wish I did, but no. Guys like me-half of us don’t finish high school.”

People like him? Boys who grow up into his line of work? But he doesn’t seem like an uneducated man. He’s articulate and well spoken.

“Ma made me read a lot. I have hundreds of books at home.”

A mobster who reads books. I can totally imagine him lounging on a sofa, balancing a book on his stomach.

“Your mom made you, eh? Why didn’t she make you stay in school?”

“I never said I dropped out,” he says, giving me a little smile.

“What’s the last book you read?”

“It was by some doctor in Canada. It was a text about psychopaths. He studies them.”

“Wow.” I totally didn’t expect that.

“Yeah, I’m interested in that shit. Getting into someone’s head.” His shoulder lifts into a shrug.

“Can you get into my head?”

“No. I can’t say I know a lot of Ivy League girls.”

I don’t feel like an Ivy League girl.

I smirk. “Does that intimidate you?”

He laughs as if I said a funny joke. “Not at all. It just makes you curious.” He gives me a searching look as he takes another sip of wine.

I smile as the waiter drops a plate in front of me. He describes the dish and I catch the words “porcini mushroom ravioli.” I take a bite of the two pieces sitting in the cream sauce. It’s delicious. The muskiness of the mushrooms combines perfectly with the cream. It seems as though there’s a new dish every fifteen minutes: ricotta gnocchi with pesto, truffle crusted Arctic char, and it goes on and on.

The waiter drops a plate in front of me, something that looks like a pair of ribs with sitting in some sort of dark sauce.

“Here we have a braised short rib with a cherry pepper and port wine glaze, with fennel-apple puree.”

My tongue sings as I pick up the meat with my fork and pop it into my mouth. It’s incredible, rich, and acidic. I’ve never had anything so flavorful.

Vincent eats his plate like it’s nothing out of the ordinary. He pours me more wine when he sees I’m running low. He flashes another secretive grin.

“Drink up.”

I take a sip. I’m already riding a really good buzz, and I don’t want to ruin it by getting drunk. Although, I suspect that’s exactly what he wants. “Trying to get me to lower my inhibitions?”

“Something like that.” He smiles and tilts his head after a beat of silence. “So, you got what you wanted. I’m here.”

“You wanted it, too.”

“I haven’t gotten what I want yet.”

The sly suggestion almost makes me spit out my wine. Grinning like the sly devil he is, his gaze rakes over me like he’s hungry for my flesh. He’s a monster and he wants to tempt me to his home so he can devour me.

I might just let him.

“Why didn’t you ask me out?” I ask suddenly.

He looks at me without surprise. “I’m surprised you didn’t ask me that sooner. I had to do a background check on you first.” He smiles at my astonishment. “You’re clean, aside from a minor shoplifting incident when you were twelve.” He waves a long finger at me and mouths, “Bad girl.”

I grimace. “How the heck did you find that out? It was expunged from my record.”

Vince stays mum, smiling secretly. “What did you steal?”

My cheeks burn as I remember the utter shame, how the security scanners beeped when I walked through the door. Mom was horrified when they made me empty my pockets, revealing the Tamagotchi I stole.

“It was just a small toy. I rarely had anything growing up, so I usually stole what I wanted. Everyone at school had one and I really wanted one, but I got caught.” Through the pleasant warmth of the wine, I feel a ripple of anger.

“And then you stopped.”

It’s too hot in the restaurant. “Well, sort of.” It’s time to steer the conversation out of these dangerous waters. “How about you?”

He fiddles with the tablecloth and shrugs. “I’ve tried to steal a couple times. My ma whipped my ass raw when she found out, and I never did it again. I got in trouble at school a lot.”

“For what?”

“I was too aggressive with the other kids.”

I can just imagine him as a little boy, kicking the shins of another boy while playing soccer.

“When was the last time you stole something?”

My face burns and I deliberately look away from him. The last time I stole something, I was with him. His pen. It glimmers in my mind. Of course, I can’t tell him that.

“Uh-a couple weeks ago. I stole some gum.” My face flushes again.

He shakes his head, grinning. “Why?”

“Why the gum? I don’t know. I haven’t had any in a while.”

“No,” he says through laughter. “I mean, why steal something so small? Why go through that risk?”

“I like it. It’s thrilling because I know it’s wrong, that I could get caught. You know what I mean?”

“I do,” he says, his dark eyes shining.

He probably understands better than most.

We lapse into a comfortable silence. Another dish flies under my nose and I’m too tired to pay attention to what the waiter says, but I catch the words: praline, hazelnut, pistachio sauce, and espresso. A layered chocolate cake sits in front of me covered in green sauce with an egg-shaped mound of espresso custard sitting beside it. It’s delicious, but I can barely take three bites. Vince takes a few small bites of his and pushes it away.

“I’m so full. It was delicious.”

“Yeah, me too. It’s almost too much.”

A wave of uncertainty falls over me as the waiter brings the check. Now what? I accidentally glance over and my face burns when I notice that our meal cost him over five hundred dollars.

Jesus.

“Vince, you didn’t have to.”

He raises his eyebrow. “I know I didn’t. I wanted to.”

I’m speechless. It’s such a huge gesture for a first date.

“Thanks so much for dinner. It was amazing.”

He scribbles in the tip and signs the check. “It was my pleasure.” Vincent stands up, shrugging on his jacket.

Grasping the table, I stand up and immediately clutch his arm. My mind swims as I lean against him, but he curls an arm around my waist. I’m hot all over, and I don’t want the night to end. I walk as slowly as possible as he takes me back to his car. He waits until we’re alone before he turns around, eyes blazing.

“Come home with me.”

I must have heard wrong. “W-what?”

He pulls me into his chest and kisses the dent just below my ear. “Come home with me.” His hands clutch my hips as they move around me, just barely stroking my ass.

I know what awaits me if I go home with him. I know it’s way too fast, but I’m in the mood to do something reckless, to break free from my mundane routine.

“Okay, then.”

The silence in the car is deafening as we drive to his house, my head pounding unpleasantly with the wine muddling my thoughts. Maybe this is a mistake. I don’t know what I was thinking. I shouldn’t go home alone with a man like him, of all people. The only reason I did was because I drank so much. I’m a fucking moron and I’m going to get killed.

Vincent watches me out of the corner of my eyes. His hand takes mine in my lap and squeezes. “Relax, Adriana.”

I can’t relax, even with lounge music playing in the background.

He massages my hand with his thumb and it feels good. Sparks of electricity shoot up my spine. He parks the car and then I don’t even have the music anymore. The silence suffocates me in that brief moment when Vincent gets out of the car. All I hear is pounding behind my ribs.

My buzz is gone, leaving me insecure and shaky as I enter the biggest apartment I’ve ever seen in Manhattan. It’s all very masculine: dark wood, stainless steel, walls that make you think of blue metal, smoky brown accent walls. The city blinks underneath us. His living room has a fantastic view of the park and downtown.

I sit down on a salt and pepper grey couch as Vincent mixes something in the kitchen, and I try to wonder how the hell I got here. A few weeks ago, I was just a run of the mill Columbia student with no idea what to do. Now, I’m in an apartment that costs a least a couple million, going on dates with a prominent New York City mobster, and probably having sex with him, too.

My face heats up like a lamp. I hear ice clinking into glass and liquid. His leather shoes clip over the tiles as he steps into the living room, handing me a glass. He sits down across from me; jacket discarded, and gives his drink a thoughtful look before taking a sip. He looks like his mind is somewhere else.

“It’s a rum and coke.”

“Thanks.” I wrap my hands around the cold drink, hoping that my body will absorb some of the coolness and calm the fuck down. “This place is incredible.”

“Thanks. It’s pretty new.” He takes a gulp of his drink, and I can see the alcohol hit him like a punch.

I take a sip. Wow, it’s strong. The rum burns down my throat. “I’m a bit nervous,” I admit.

A bit?

“I noticed,” he says, smiling. “That’s okay, though. A lot of people are nervous around me.”

He does that a lot. He throws out dark hints and suggestions without noticing, leaving me reeling in shock.

“Are you nervous, too? Is that why you have a drink?”

Finally he makes eye contact with me, giving me smoldering look that makes me drink more.

“I don’t get nervous.”

Right.

He laughs to himself and stands up, regarding the view for a moment before stepping around the table to sit down next to me. His thigh presses right against mine and his heavy arm slides on my shoulders, pulling me into his chest.

Oh, God.