Chapter 102: He was a freaking pervert.

By the time I get home, I am exhausted.

All I want is a warm bath, a glass of whiskey, and several uninterrupted hours of sleep. 𝒻𝘳ℯℯ𝑤ℯ𝒷𝘯ℴ𝓋ℯ𝘭.𝑐ℴ𝑚

If I had known killing Nico Moretti would cause this much trouble in the underworld, I might have considered a different method.

Might have.

I certainly don’t regret killing him. The bastard had it coming, and if I were given the chance to make the same decision again, I would do it without hesitation.

Still, between investigators showing up at my club, someone planting a listening device in my office, and the possibility of the Nico’s turning the entire city upside down to find their answers, my patience is wearing thin.

And something tells me tonight isn’t going to be any more peaceful.

I discover why the moment I step into the living room.

My mother is sitting comfortably on the sofa, talking animatedly to Jeremiah, who looks far too pleased with himself for a man I have been trying to reach since this afternoon.

I stop in the doorway.

What the actual fuck? How did this idiot get here before me?

More importantly, did he know Mother was coming and deliberately decide not to inform me?

He notices me and flashes a grin.

That settles it. I’m going to kill him.

Not tonight, perhaps. I am too tired to dig a grave, and I would rather not give Mother another reason to lecture me.

But soon...Very soon.

I force a smile onto my face and walk toward her.

"Hi, Ma." I bend to kiss her cheek. "You didn’t tell me you were coming."

She looks up at me, her expression perfectly innocent.

"I didn’t realize I had to inform my son of my visit months in advance."

"I didn’t mean it like that, Ma."

"Then how did you mean it?"

I open my mouth.

Close ir.

Behind her, Jeremiah snickers into his hand.

I shoot him a murderous glare and he immediately becomes fascinated by the ceiling.

Coward.

"Besides," Mother continues, adjusting herself on the sofa, "I’m here because of you."

I blink.

"Me?"

"Yes, you."

I glance at Jeremiah, hoping he might offer some explanation. He merely lifts his shoulders, wearing the sort of expression that makes me want to put my fist through his face.

Mother folds her hands in her lap.

"What were you thinking, putting a councilman’s son in the hospital?"

I stare at her.

"Um. What?"

"Oh, don’t give me that confused look." She points a finger at me. "That might have worked when you were a wee boy, but you’re a grown man now, Lysander."

I drag a hand down my face.

"I genuinely don’t know what you’re talking about, Ma."

She stares at me for a long moment.

Then she says, "You don’t remember cutting off Councilman Accardo’s son’s private organ?"

Oh. Oh.

I look away, pressing my lips together.

Of all the things I expected to hear when I walked through my front door, this wasn’t one of them.

Jeremiah, on the other hand, looks as though Christmas has arrived early.

"Wait." He leans forward. "Who the hell is Accardo’s....."

Mother turns her glower on him.

"Language, boy."

Jeremiah straightens immediately.

"Sorry, Ma."

She sighs, shaking her head as though we are both determined to shorten her lifespan.

"Accardo is a man I have very lucrative business dealings with. A respectable man who has never given me any reason to complain. And your dear brother here has put his son in the hospital."

I raise a finger.

"Technically, I didn’t put him in the hospital."

When Mother’s eyes narrow, I reconsider my next words.

"I mean, I cut off his di.....private part. That’s different."

Jeremiah makes a strangled noise beside her.

I turn toward him.

"Would you like to share whatever you find so amusing with the rest of us?"

"No, no." He shakes his head, pressing his lips together. His shoulders are trembling. "Please, continue. This is educational."

I swear on every god that has ever existed, I am going to kill him.

Mother pinches the bridge of her nose.

"Honestly, Lysander. Why would you do something like that?"

"Because he deserved it."

She gives me a look of utter disbelief.

I sigh and loosen my tie, suddenly wishing I had gone straight to my bedroom instead of stopping fown here.

"I didn’t put him in the hospital, Ma. I had Rocco patch him up and stop the bleeding. He was stable when I left."

I wisely leave out the fact that the little bastard is probably only in the hospital because he’s a fucking pussy.

Mother would not appreciate that observation.

"And you think that makes it better?" she demands.

"I think it makes it medically accurate."

"Lysander!"

"All right. Sorry."

She throws her hands up.

"Good heavens. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with you."

"Nothing, Ma. You can go home and enjoy your evening now."

Jeremiah bursts out laughing.

Mother turns to him.

"And you! Don’t encourage him."

His laughter dies immediately.

"Yes, Ma."

I almost smile.

Then Mother looks back at me, and I know the interrogation is far from over.

"Now, what do you have to say for yourself?"

I sink into the armchair opposite her.

"Nothing, Ma. It was a one-off situation involving Nerissa. I’m not planning to make a habit of it."

The moment her name leaves my mouth, I remember the box I kept waiting for her.

I wonder whether she has opened it yet, I wonder whether she is horrified, furious, or standing in her room plotting my murder.

Knowing my wife, the last option is entirely possible.

A faint smile tugs at my mouth before I can stop it.

Mother notices.

"Oh, don’t you dare smile at me."

I straighten my face.

"I’m not smiling."

"You were."

"Must have been a muscle spasm."

Jeremiah coughs into his fist.

I don’t even look at him this time. I simply make a mental note to have him assigned to the most miserable job available tomorrow.

Mother releases a long, weary breath.

Ma tried her best with raising us. She really did.

She spent years trying to ensure that neither of us would grow up to become anything like our father. She taught us kindness when the world around us rewarded cruelty. She taught us that power meant nothing if we used it only to hurt people who couldn’t fight back.

Of course, we grew up in a house where men settled disagreements with bullets, where our father’s word was law.

It was never going to be easy...Especially not for her.

My father kidnapped and married my mother against her will when she was only fifteen years old.

Fifteen.

Sometimes, I think about it and the hatred I carry for that man burns all over again.

She was a child...a fucking child.

While girls her age were worrying about school, friends, and the future they might have, my mother was trapped in a marriage she had never chosen, tied to a man who believed that wanting something gave him the right to take it.

He stole her freedom and called it love, he stole her choices and called it marriage and he expected her to be grateful for it.

My father was a fucking pervert.