Page 122 of Tyrant (The Villetti Chronicles)

“I’ll help you, Enzo. All you have to do is ask.”

I didn’t wait to hear a response from him, striding to the front door and pulling it wide open.

“That’s it, run away, boy. You’ll be back soon enough,” came my father’s voice.

Not bothering to look at him again, I pulled Arianna out into the cool night air and slammed the door shut behind me. I tugged my phone out of my pocket and fired off a quick text to Arlo. Ari didn’t speak as I led her over to the car. I was absolutely fucking fuming over Gennaro. He had far too much audacity.

I let go of her hand and paced the pavement by the car.

“Fuck!”

It didn’t take long for Arlo to emerge from my father’s house and make his way over to us. Ari stood silently, watching me with a worried expression on her face.

“Let’s get you home, boss,” Arlo said as he unlocked the car and opened the back door for me.

“Get in,” I almost barked at Ari, who didn’t hesitate to move. She knew I wasn’t angry at her.

I slid in beside her. Arlo handed me Ari’s coat before he shut the door. I set it down in the middle and reached over Ari, tugging her seatbelt across her chest to strap her in before I sat back and did my own. Arlo got in the front and set off a minute later.

Ari reached out and took my hand. She pulled it to her lips and pressed a kiss on the back of it. I wanted to tell her it would be okay, but I knew it wouldn’t. Gennaro would never accept her. He’d never accept I wanted to be my own man. He would always be a thorn in our sides, no matter what I did. The futility of it all slammed into my chest, making me want to throw shit.

“Daddy,” came her soft voice.

I looked over at Ari. The expression of understanding she wore almost cleaved me in two.

“He’s never going to stop, is he?”

I shook my head, not trusting my voice. She squeezed my hand tighter in hers.

Normally, I wouldn’t have such a difficult time controlling my emotions, but right now, I felt untethered. I couldn’t keep it locked inside. It wasn’t like me. I didn’t lose my temper, nor did I let my father rattle me, but he had. Was it my fault for underestimating him? I didn’t expect him to be happy about current developments, but did he have to make me feel so fucking small? I think that was what bothered me the most. Even after all these years, he still had the ability to affect me.

It didn’t help that I was already feeling raw from telling Ari the truth about my mother and her reaction to what my father had done. She was right. It was barbaric. Keeping someone alive who wasn’t ever going to wake up. I’d resigned myself to her fate for far too long. It couldn’t go on like this. She deserved to be at peace.

The journey home was silent. Tomorrow I could work out what the fuck to do next. When I wasn’t feeling worn down. When everything didn’t seem so fucking bleak.

Arlo dropped us off, telling me he’d be back in the morning. I took Ari inside, hanging up her coat before I walked upstairs to our bedroom. Undoing the buttons on my suit jacket, I tugged it off and hung it up before undoing my cufflinks and setting them down on the chest of drawers near the window. I could feel Ari watching me from the doorway, but I didn’t look at her as I toed off my shoes.

Walking over to the bed, I sat down on the end of it and buried my face in my hands. It was all I could do to not want to tear the room apart. Ari moved about the bedroom, but I didn’t look up. I stayed where I was, trying to focus on my breathing. Trying to calm the war waging inside me.

The bed dipped behind me. Ari curled herself around my back, wrapping her arms around my front as she sat behind me.

“It’s okay, daddy, you can let it out,” she whispered as she rested her cheek between my shoulder blades. “I’m right here. I’ll keep you together.”

My tense shoulders drooped at her words. I let out a shaky breath, dropping my hands from my face as I leant my elbows on my thighs. I stared across at the bedroom wall and wondered when the last time I allowed myself to feel the anger and resentment I had towards my father was. Being calm and collected was just who I was. I’d always kept a level head in difficult situations. And yet right now, I wasn’t that man. I was twenty-five again and hating my father for stealing my mother from me. I didn’t have anyone to help me deal with my feelings back then. Now I had someone special who would hold me when the darkness sunk into my bones. She would keep it at bay.

“I hate him,” I gritted out, “I fucking hate him.”

My hands curled into fists.

“I’ve imagined killing him so many times. Wringing his fucking neck and burying him in an unmarked grave. He doesn’t deserve to be mourned over or immortalised. He deserves to fade into fucking obscurity.”

I wanted him to die so fucking badly, it burnt in my veins. He would never stop haunting me unless he was dead.

“But I can’t do it.”

There was the fucking kicker. I could kill without feeling a single goddamn thing. I didn’t kill in anger. I did it out of necessity. When it came to my own father, I wasn’t calm about it. I was fucking raging.

“I don’t kill in anger, Ari. It’s not who I am.”

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