Page 49 of Tortured Eyes
Nineteen
The church feels cold, empty. It isn’t. It’s full to bursting point. I look around, watching the mill of people walk through the narthex to pay their final respects before we leave to bury him. The casket lies proudly in the middle of the space, light oak showing his honesty and integrity. Black wood would be more appropriate if it were my father, but this is Nate—the decent one. The one who tried for righteousness all his life.
I trade glances with the other three standing guard over his body, black suits and hands clasped behind our backs. Carter’s head stays upright, his eyes pinned on every single person who approaches the casket. Landon does the same. My father, though? His stare is glued to me the entire time as if he blames me for this whole damn scenario. He’s right to. It was my fault. No matter how much I try to tell myself it was down to Mortoni or the bitch I let go. Perhaps if I'd dragged her here, forced her one last time, she'd feel her culpability in this, too. Acknowledge it and show some goddamned remorse.
My gaze finally lands on the priest, a sigh coming from my lips. He’s old, nothing to do with my family at all. It’s not like any true Cane has ever been a churchgoer, or even holds the slightest interest in it, but the priest reads the same prayers as Samuel did at Vico’s funeral to send Nate off. There's no passion in them, though. No care or devout nature like Samuel offered. It makes me feel like ripping his damn head off for barely acknowledging the man he’s presiding over.
My fingers twitch in their clutched grip, desperate to reign havoc, but a soft hand touches my shoulder, bringing me out of my destructive thoughts.
“Logan, are you okay?” Mother’s voice asks.
I keep my eyes fixed on the casket and nod. Maybe I should talk to her sometime. Make peace somehow. I don’t know how, though. Not sure I even want to given how easily she let him kick me out all those years ago.
Gabby comes next. She doesn’t touch anyone, nor does she even attempt eye contact with anything but the casket. She just drops to her knees and rests her head on the wood, her hand crossing over her black-clad body as she holds a set of Rosary beads tightly and cries lightly. The sight of it brings tears of my own into my eyes, numbing me back to emotional and near fucking defeated in her presence. Still, it's not gonna bring him back from the dead, is it?
Nothing will.
Prayers and litanies come to an end for now, and the old priest nods at us, holding his hands out to the casket. Time to bury him. Time to put him in the ground and say our final goodbyes. I swallow the lump in my throat and pull in a long breath, my own hands finally releasing their tense grip on each other. Six paces take me to the corner I’m carrying, my left shoulder slipping under his right as Carter goes for his left side. I watch my father brace his hand on the underside of the casket in front of me and lift at the same time as I do, Landon in front of Carter on the other side.
My throat chokes up again as we walk out, our footsteps heavy across the cold, stone floor. The sound echoes around the place as loudly as the death bells now ringing above us until we hit the light of the late afternoon sun. I look up at it and keep walking slowly, my feet moving in time with the rest, and wonder if Nate’s watching over us as we do this. He’d be proud of that—all of us together again, even if it is for abhorrent reasons. That’s all he wanted. A united family, at peace and working for happiness.
A long breath eases out of me as we approach the burial ground, and all of us begin working in unison to do the only thing left for us to do. I look at the hole as we begin lowering him in. It seems so deep and dark down there, so cold. The rope grates my palm, the twine sticking as if I don’t want to let him land. I don’t. Not one part of me wants him down there. I want his smile again, want the way his hand used to land on my back to try tempting me home. The sound of Gabby’s sobs repeats in my head, her body only a few feet behind me. She’s chanting prayers under her breath, trying to get the words out as another few inches of rope slides downwards through my fingers. And then the rope goes slack, the weight of his body coming to rest.
We back off and lie the ropes out, and then watch as the other men start pulling them from the casket. I don’t know what happens after that. There’s nothing but silence for me as I keep staring down into the pit, my gaze fixed on the light oak. I can hear Samuel’s voice at Vico’s funeral, though, hear his recitation reverberating over my skin as he sent bones and flesh across to the other side, promising us all that there was a better place waiting. I’d like to think that’s true now. Maybe there is somewhere good people go, somewhere they can go to rest and be praised for all the respectable things they achieved.
My eyes lift and search the crowds for all the charitable concerns that Nate threw money at yearly. They’re all there, all their eyes filled with tears and condolences. I stare at a young woman I remember, her arms holding a child in her grasp. Why didn’t he ever have kids? I flick my gaze to Gabby and watch a pregnant Fia clutching her shoulder, Hope by her side, with real tears pouring down her cheeks, too. Perhaps they couldn’t have any. Could have adopted, though. My own father did.
After a while, the crowds start to disperse, and I realise the service is over. I half turn from the grave and watch the priest shaking hands with people, nodding his appreciation for them coming as he talks of love, hope and devotion. It all makes me frown and choke on my own emotions, desperate to hide them as part of me suddenly realises how much I miss having Samuel near me. He’s where I went after Vico, who I turned to for solace and comfort. There is no comfort here, no warmth or care for how I might feel about this. Only anger.
“Logan?” My father’s voice turns me back to the grave. “You’re coming back to the house?” My frown deepens, eyes watching my mother as she approaches him.
“Come, Logan. I need you there,” she says.
Why?
“We can talk. Please. Today of all days.”
Carter’s hand wraps around Fia’s waist, both of them moving in my direction. He nods at me, a half-smile as if I should. The only place I want to be is on a plane to New York, back to someone who gives a damn about me. I scowl and start turning away from them, my hand reaching for Gabby to help her back down to the cars if she’ll have me. She’s the only one who means anything in these moments. She’s still sobbing as I wrap my arm around her and pull her to leave, but she drops her head to my chest and tucks in tightly as if my body’s a shield against what I damn well caused in the first place.
The walk back is painful to bear, the sound of her shrill sobs getting louder the further we get from the grave. Everything boils inside me at the feeling, each footfall becoming more and more agonising. I want to tear this place up, refuse the acceptance I'm having to admit. My fault. Mine. He’s gone. Done. And now two father figures are lost because of the lives we lead, and the only one I’ve got left blames me for one of those deaths and also despises me for who I am.
I swallow and open the door to the car for Gabby, wondering how much more he’d despise me if he knew I was falling in love with a man, touched him and laid in his arms. He’d hate me even more for that sin, give himself more reason to be disgusted in me. That's my home, though. The one good thing in my life, the same one Bryce dared utter. And no fucker is taking it from me.
The slap that suddenly stings the side of my face is well earned. I look back at Gabby, giving a weak nod to confirm that I damn well know why she sent it home. It's deserved,and she has every right to chastise me for what happened. Still, I hold the door for her, imprinting the tears in her eyes further, and then close it quietly when she slides in. My mother goes in the other side, father hovering behind her.
“Come home, Logan. Stay a few days,” he says. I back away from the car, hauling in a long breath at the thought of more than a few hours, let alone a few days. “We need to talk anyway.”
No, we don’t. I don’t want any of this now this is over. Don’t want the association with them. Don’t want to feel comfortable in their presence again either. Nate’s death does nothing to alleviate the problems we have, nor does it change a goddamn thing between us. What it has done is make me realise that there is nothing I want or need in this place, certainly not now. Maybe it's changed my opinion on proving my point somehow, made me realise how little it actually means to me. Carter can keep it. He can turn it into a fucking playground of good if that’s what he chooses, honour Nate in that way while the warring minor league cartels still run riot on his borders. I turn and look at him holding Fia’s hand, helping her into their car. There’s nothing for me here now. There’s only one thing left for me to do, and then I’m leaving.
My feet keep backing away until I turn and head to my own car without another word. There isn’t anything to say. I’m done here. And this mill of people around me now, all of them talking and smiling at me like I’m some member of this community still, is pissing me off. I’m angry, stewed up inside with pain and grief and regret. I have a city to get back to, rules to set in place so New York runs as New York always has done—under a Vico statute. There isn’t any room for sentiment or care, no fucking need for it either. I am what he helped me become, and I’m damned if I’m bowing back to who I was without him in my life just because my father wants to talk.
I’m in the car and flooring it from the cemetery before anyone manages another word in my direction, foot pressed hard on the accelerator to get to the only thing left to do. Asshole wants to talk, does he? Fuck him. He had his chance to talk when we argued. Instead, he told me that kind of trading wasn’t acceptable anymore, that Carter’s way was the way forward. Bogata wasn’t going anywhere under Carter’s reign, regardless of the fact that my father had set it all up to be highly profitable. It was being closed down instead. The drugs ignored. The wealth and power that would come with it ignored, too. The only thing Carter’s version of Cane was interested in was the diamonds from there and keeping Mrs Wade pushing forward with her clean hope for a better life.
I never have worked out why father chose to let Carter travel that safe road. He never would have if he'd remained in control that's for damn sure. Why throw it all away? While the diamonds were useful, they didn’t wield any form of power, and because of that, the Cane name began falling further and further from grace. I took it on, kept the discussions going and trafficked the drugs in to distribute through the minor cartels in Chicago, brought the power back to the Cane name at the same time. Everyone made money, and the city remained under our control even though it was distant from the actual company. Carter didn’t have to do a goddamn thing but let me do what I was doing, and then he pitched up at a deal and made me look like a goddamn fool.
I swing hard right and floor the next few corners into the country roads, shifting gear so the engine stays as angry and aggressive as I am. Fuck, that pissed me off. Still does. He dared show up, eyeballing every single one of my team, and then tried using his fucking muscle to close everything down. Guns were drawn, a battle line tossed out in front of me that neither of us were backing down from. Pain. I can remember the weight of him lifting me from the floor as he let rip and forced me to the ground, held me there and beat the ever-loving crap out of me. All of it in front of my own men. I scowl at the memory and glare out the window, still able to see him coming for me across that room and still able to feel the broken jaw.
My teeth grate, muscles moving my jaw around as I power through the gates and down the drive. Fucker took me home then. He took me back to father and shoved me in the middle of the office floor, dried blood still evident on my face. And what did my father do?My father?He agreed with the cunt. Told me I had to abide by Carter or I wasn’t fit to be a Cane any longer and I should leave. I did, not one glance backwards. Fuck Carter’s rule. Fuck his change of heart simply because of Fia. The Cane name was never clean. Never damn well will be if I have anything to do with it.
