Page 63 of Bidding War

He arches a brow at me. “Come now, Anderson. Don’t play the fool.”

My insides try to drop out of me. “You knew … you knew this whole time?”

His smirk slowly pulls his lips sly. “The thing about me, my son, is that even after I finish my last breath in this life, you will never be free of me.”

The noose tightens.

“I … I … ”

“In this city, when there is an important event, or something goes spectacularly wrong, my hands are in it. My name is rarely in the headlines, but my fingerprints are on every story and bit of gossip. Some men leave big shoes to fill when they die, but, Anderson, my footprint is Boston.”

I have no idea what to say. My mind is blank. He has known from the start. He’s played his hand without even a hint that he was playing at all. In short, whatever I do, I am fucked.

Opting for glib, I half-shrug. “Congratulations.”

He fakes a smile at me. “I say all this not to brag but as a warning.”

“A warning about what?”

“You have no allies, no friends. It will stay that way until I say otherwise.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Now, I get a genuine smile out of him. “You know precisely what that means. There is no move you can make, no grand scheme you can concoct that I will not thwart. If you move against me, then you move against Boston, and as you are well aware, Boston does not take kindly to such things.”

My mouth is dry. “Why would I move against you, Dad? What reason could I possibly have?”

His emotions stop registering. Moments like this make my breath hitch in my chest, and the fine hairs on the back of my neck stand. When he stops being my father and shows me his true personality. The mobster. “You will stop seeing that whore.”

“Excuse me?”

“What is it the kids call it these days? Oh, right. You will ghost June Devlin. No further contact from this moment onward. No texts, calls, visits. You will cease all connections. If you feel generous and choose to contact her, that is a move against me. Against Boston. No matter how you feel about the whore, you are smart enough to know better than to face me as an adversary. It is over. Wipe that look off your face and call Moss. You have work to do.”

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35

JUNE

Our fight was terrible last night, but I didn’t think he would ignore my texts. Sure, we were fighting, and we both made some valid points, but I'm just shocked he hasn't texted me back. It's not like him. I sigh to myself and pull my robe a little tighter. I just wish he would respond. Thankfully, my chocolate responds.

It's much easier to eat my feelings than to think about them. An unhealthy coping mechanism. But I don't really give a shit. Right now, my heart sits on the precipice of something bad. I can feel it. I don't even want to think about whether Anderson wants to break up.

I can't let myself think about that. We will get through this. I know we will. It's just … why hasn't he texted me back yet?

Okay, what if this thing with Andre is a deal breaker? What if this is the straw that breaks the camel's back? We have hit so many skids on our road. And this is a big one, I know it is. But I won't let some man, not even Anderson, tell me what job to take. Where does that stop?

I know where it stops. It stops when you stop agreeing to it. I watched my mother give in to my father on his every whim for years because he wore her down. First, it was what friends she could have. And he was subtle about it. He said, " I don't think that person is good for you. Or I think that guy has a crush on you, so I'm uncomfortable with you being his friend. He couched it in completely reasonable terms at the start.

Then it became what kinds of movies she would watch, and he said they weren’t high-brow enough or too dumb for someone as bright as her. He made it sound like a compliment. So she would agree to whatever movie he wanted to watch. And for a long time, that was how they lived.

He ate away at her for years. Her personality, the things she liked, even if they were dumb, it didn't matter. They were what she liked. But that wasn't good enough for him. Nothing ever was.

Then, it became physical. Picking on her weight, her clothes, her hair. He had isolated her from her friends and from herself, so when he started in on her physicality, there wasn’t much of her left. She didn’t defend herself when he hit her the first time. She thought it would be just that one time. And then, just that second time. And so on.

She never stood up to him until he started hitting me, too.

I know Anderson is not my father. He would never, ever hit me. That's not how he gets what he wants. And that's not what last night was about. Not for him, anyway.

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