Take Me Apart (Vitale Brothers Book 1)

I raised a hand and hesitated before I knocked on the door. What was it about coming home that always made me pause? I sucked in a breath. Every alarm bell rang. I should turn around and leave. If my father wasn’t threatening to go to my Sargeant about the missing files, I would have. There was no way to get around what I’d done.

My knuckles rapped against the screen door. I stood up a little straighter, staring ahead. One ounce of weakness, and he’d be on my ass even more. The door creaked open. I stared down at my mother. The older I got, the tinier she looked.

“Hey, honey.” She smiled, but the look was forced. “What are you doing here?”

“Is Dad around?” I already know he is. When does the old man leave?

“Yes, he’s in the living room.” She opened the door and let me in. “What’s going on with you two? He won’t tell me anything.”

My lips pressed together. I didn’t know what to say to her that wouldn’t make her look at me with disappointment in her eyes.

“Nothing,” I said shortly. “I’ll go talk to Dad.”

“Oh. Okay.” She frowned. “You two play nice.”

I suppressed the scoff that threatened to break free. Nice. There was never any nice when the two of us were left alone. One of us always ruined it. I walked into the living room, and he looked up, a sneer twisting his lips.

“What the fuck were you thinking?”

Ah, we’re starting already.

I shoved my hands into my pockets. “I asked you—”

“I know what you asked me,” he snapped. He grabbed his cane, pushing himself onto his feet to glare at me. He always did that when he wanted to be intimidating. Had he forgotten I’d grown up since then? “I told you to stay the hell away from the Vitales.”

“Yeah, I know.”

He sneered. “You don’t know jack shit, or you wouldn’t have ignored me and did whatever the hell you wanted to do.”

I stared at him. Did he think I was still a child? Okay, stealing from him wasn’t right, but did he have to talk to me like that?

Rolling my shoulders back, I clenched my jaw tightly until pain shot through it. Sharp pinpricks of pain focused my attention.

“I needed it for my investigation,” I said. “There’s a whole task force revolving around the Vitales, and that wouldn’t have happened without me. I have people watching my back.”

“That doesn’t mean shit,” he grumbled. “You want to be some kind of hot shot, that’s what this is. Wanna play hero? All you’re going to do is get yourself killed.”

I scoffed. “Like you? From what I’ve heard, everyone says you were a hero, but the truth is you were just as bad as me. Charging in head first, getting yourself shot. How can you get on my ass when I’m your exact carbon copy?”

He stared at me. I glanced away, toying with my fingers. Shouldn’t have said that. I hadn’t meant to let it slip free, but the hypocrisy of what he was saying smacked me in the face like a ton of bricks. As the silence grew between us, I shifted from one foot to the other. He stayed silent until I looked up and met his angry gaze.

“What did you say to me?”

I willed myself not to take a step back. My father ran over me backward and forward when we were together, but I wasn’t in the mood for that shit right now.

“I said I clearly got it from you,” I said.

He took a step toward me, but I stayed still. When his eyes narrowed, all I could think about were all the times he’d torn me apart as a child. My father rarely ever put his hands on me, but his ability to rip me to shreds with a few well-placed words was truly a talent.

“You’re nothing like me,” he said slowly.

My stomach dropped, turning into a pit of anxiety as that look came over his face. Turn around and leave. I can get the hell out of here right now and never have to hear another word out of his mouth. I tried to make myself move, but it was like my feet were glued to the floor. Somehow, he still had a hold on me.

“When I was your age, I was following in my father’s footsteps. Every man in this family has been a cop, then a detective, and moved up the ranks. You’ve been fucking around, Tex. Every chance you had straight out of high school, you blew. How many times did I find you strung out upstairs?”

“Stop,” I said, my voice trembling despite how hard I tried to make it stop.

“Once I kicked you out, how many times did I find you in that shitty little apartment you used to live in so out of it you didn’t know I was there?”

I still live there.

“How many times did I have to threaten you with going to prison before you finally cleaned up your act? Huh, Tex?”

My head snapped up, and I realized I’d been staring at the floor. It was a familiar thing to do, staring at the old, worn-out threads while he yelled at me.

“I don’t want to talk about this,” I said.

“Oh, I’m sure you don’t,” he snapped. “The only thing you’ve ever wanted to do is get high and be a lazy, ungrateful asshole. You act like you had such a bad life when you’ve been nothing but spoiled.”

“Spoiled?” I stared at him as the shock settled in. “You call having to deal with your abuse everyday spoiled? How many times did you come home drunk off your ass after a shift just to scream at Mom and me?”

“That’s not abuse. Grow up.”

“Telling your son he’s worthless and your wife she’s useless is abuse,” I snapped right back at him. “But you didn’t give a damn. You were always the cop. The hero. If anyone knew how you treated us—”

“Enough.”

“—they wouldn’t have called you that shit. If they knew, they would have looked at you like another one of the criminals down at the station.” I laughed. “Who am I kidding? Your friends saw it, and they never said anything. All they would do is cover for you.”

We stared at each other, neither one of us backing down. The weight on my chest hadn’t lessened even after dumping some of the frustration that had lived in me since I was a child. The stone was still there, growing as he glared at me like I was just junkie trash on the street in his eyes. Like I wasn’t his son.

Goddamn, I need a hit. A drink. Anything.

“Where are my fucking files?” he asked.

“Henry.” My mother walked in carrying his lunch. She sat it on the little table he had chosen to eat at since I was a kid instead of spending time with his family. Once she was done, she turned, frowning at both of us. “Whatever is going on, stop it. Lunch is ready.” She disappeared. “I’m bringing you a plate too, Tex. We’ll eat together.”

I wanted to tell her I didn’t have an appetite, not anymore. Pulling the files from underneath my armpit, I shoved them at my father. He stared at them before he snatched them out of my hand.

“Is this all of them?” he muttered.

“Yeah.”

“Every last one?”

I sealed my mouth shut. I’d already answered him once; I wasn’t about to do it again. My father loved a well-trained dog, but I was sick and tired of playing. He looked up at me and raised a brow.

“I asked you a question, boy.”

“And I already fucking answered it.”

The words exploded out of me, coated in red-hot anger. My nails dug into the soft meat of my flesh. If my nails were any longer, they would have cut into my skin. Instead, I felt the sharp, stabbing pain and swallowed it, letting it seep into me and soothe my emotions.

“Don’t you ever curse at me,” he said evenly.

I rolled my neck. “Then don’t do it to me.”

“You need to learn respect again.”

“Give me something to respect, and I will,” I bit back.

“Fuck you,” he spat.

“Fuck you too!”

The crack of the cane against my face was hard and fast. It felt like lightning kissing my skin. Wetness rolled down my cheek, but it wasn’t tears. I reached up and touched it. Blood stained my fingers, deep, dark, and slick. Searing pain washed over me. I could hear screaming, but it was far away, like listening to the ocean in a seashell. As if it wasn’t even real.

“What did you do! Henry, what the hell did you do?”

My mother’s hands grabbed at me, urgent and hot. The smell of garlic from her fingertips made me recoil. It was just like when I was a kid, one of those rare drunken nights when my father’s temper was too hot, and I paid the consequences.

“I didn’t mean to do that,” my father grunted. “The boy was mouthing off at me. It was a reflex.”

The same kind of reflex I’ve heard you had with suspects? Or prisoners?

I’d heard whispers about my father, but I never wanted to believe they were true. Now, I was pretty damn sure they were. I’d been brushing shit off and pretending he wasn’t as bad as I remembered.

I was right. He was worse.

“Get off,” I said as my mom dabbed at my bleeding cheek with a towel. “Mom, stop! Fuck.”

I picked myself up off the floor. Mom’s doe eyes tugged at my heartstrings, making me want to pull her to me and apologize. However, she was just as guilty as he was. History was repeating itself, and I was a scared kid getting blood wiped off of my face while she bribed me with treats and another hour of TV past my bedtime.

My chest squeezed so painfully that I could barely breathe. The images were too strong. The feeling of helplessness grew.

I can’t be here.

I didn’t look back at my father or mother as I turned on my heels and stormed out of the house. Her voice followed me, shaky and sorrow-filled. The old me would have stopped and gone to her because she was just as much a victim as I was. But I was over that bullshit. I was the one that should have been protected, and she was still defending him.

He didn’t mean it. How many times had she whispered that to me while cradling me in her arms?

Shivers raked over my body. I opened my car door, sliding inside before I slammed it. I risked one glance back and caught sight of my mother hurrying down the stairs.

I’ve never peeled away so quickly in my life.

What was I thinking? I shouldn’t have come back to this goddamn house.

My throat tightened, and my hands gripped the wheel so tightly it hurt. No matter what I did, my father was never going to give a damn. If I failed, he wouldn’t blink an eye. If I succeeded? He would still remember all the times I failed.

I’d tried so hard to change things between us, to prove that I wasn’t a pathetic screw-up. Now, I was sure that was how he would always see me.

A stoplight forced me to look into the rearview mirror. My cheek was still bleeding, as my face swelled.

Hospital, then a place to sleep tonight.

I wished I was going where Pen was. Never had I ever needed a warm, comforting hug more. My mind flashed to Enzo; the way he held me, talked to me, and kissed me. I felt the pricking of tears gathering behind my eyes and forced them down. My father’s words echoed in my head.

Real men don’t cry.

God, I needed something to numb the pain.