Page 111 of The Locksmith's Promise

As if I needed an excuse.

Ten minutes later, I let myself into the house I was renovating and jogged down to the basement.

Here, the solitude embraced me.

Alone, with a hammer in my hand and no one around to distract me, I could think.

Waking up with Maggie in my arms after the agony of the night before, one thing was clear: I couldn’t let things go on like this.

She deserved the truth.

When my cell phone beeped with a notification from Jenny, it only confirmed what I already knew I needed to do.

Jenny: Meet me down by the docks or I’m coming to your place. This has gone on long enough.

I texted back, agreeing to meet in an hour and sat down on the bottom stair. With my head in my hands, I prayed that when all was said and done, Maggie would forgive me.

Unable to concentrate any longer, I locked up the house and began to walk, cheeks stinging with the cold. Before I realized where I was going, I stood in front of my father’s house.

And his truck shone like a fucking beacon in the driveway.

“What the fuck?”

Storming up the path, I near pulled the door off its hinges.

Vince fucking Moroni sat on my father’s couch smoking a cigar.

His chapped and wrinkled lips split into a mocking grin as soon as he saw me. “Knew you’d come eventually.”

“What are you doing here, old man? You’re trespassing.”

His smile twisted into a sneer. “Watch your mouth, boy. I’ve got a message from your father.” Forty years of smoking turned his mocking laugh into a wheeze.

He extended a wrinkled envelope. “He left you a letter.”

Snatching it out of his hand, I ripped it open.

It’s all yours now, boy.

The house.

The truck.

The job.

Kept tabs on you. See you walking in my footsteps.

You’re just like me. Thought you were better, but there’s no escaping your DNA.

She cried, you know. Never seen a woman so devastated.

You fucking deserved it.

All of it.

If it weren’t for you, she never would have left.

Consider this my final fuck you.

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