Trapped in his End Game (Series)

Tonight.

I have to break up with him tonight.

I don’t think he has any idea. Where the fuck should I do it? A part of me is deathly afraid of his reaction, but I start work at Carmine’s today. This needs to be done.

Vince is out of the apartment, and for that I’m grateful. It gives me time to think. I already have a suitcase packed with my clothes.

I just need to call Maria, my former roommate at Columbia.

The phone trembles in my hands as I dial her number, biting my lip hard.

Don’t pick up.

“Hey, you! I was wondering if you were ever going to call. I had so much fun at the cake tasting the other day!” Her surly voice garbles out of the speaker. “How’s Vince? You know, we really should think about floral arrangements for your wedding-”

“Maria, I’m breaking up with him.”

It breaks my heart to hear the shock in her voice, all the excitement about planning my wedding gone. “You-what? Why?”

“It’s just-it’s getting too crazy. I haven’t told him yet, but I was wondering if I could move back into the dorm.”

“Of course you can, but what the hell happened?”

“I’ll tell you all about it later. He’s going to be back soon.”

“Are you okay?”

There’s a moment of silence.

“Not really.”

My voice cracks for the first time during our phone call.

“I’ll talk to you later, Maria.”

She makes another cluck of sympathy. “Well, okay,” she agrees in a depressing tone.

The phone goes dark as I end the call, and I stare at it as if it can give me the answers I desperately need. Then it vibrates in my hand, and I almost drop it. The caller is unknown.

I answer it. “Hello?”

A sinister, Jersey accent crackles through the speaker. “Adriana, it’s Tony.”

Oh, fuck you.

“What?” I bark into the phone. “He could be here at any minute.”

“You need to do it tonight.”

“I know, I was going to-”

“548 Oak Grove Lane. Bushwick-”

“Why are you giving me my mother’s address?” My stomach turns. I haven’t eaten anything all day except for several piping hot cups of coffee. I want a drink so badly I can taste it.

“To remind you what’s at stake.”

You are human garbage.

“I know what’s at stake, thanks,” I snap into the phone.

Why the fuck am I being so hostile? Do I not realize who this man is?

“Then why haven’t you done it already?”

I grit my teeth.

“I will. Tonight. It’s not that easy, you know.”

“Well, I think it would be. Or perhaps you’d like me to add to the list of people who would get fucked over if you screw this up? If you tip him off in any way, well, let’s just say I might pay your mother a visit. And maybe Mrs. Cesare, too, since you don’t seem to give a shit about your own flesh and blood.”

Tears sting my eyes. What kind of animal would threaten a man’s mother? “Isn’t that against your code?”

“Do it tonight at La Serva’s. Some of my guys will be there, watching you.”

The phone goes dead as I’m still holding it to my face. It’s hot against my skin, and my tears fall thick and fast.

* * *

“What made you want to pick this place?”

His question catches me unawares as we walk towards the restaurant. It’s a swanky place in Midtown. Expensive. White tablecloths. Waiters dressed in suits.

Oh, Jesus Christ. I want to cry. This is so not how I wanted to do this.

“Um-I heard it was good,” I lie quickly.

“Yeah,” he says, opening the door for me. “It’s a popular place for friends of ours.”

His arm wraps around my waist as we approach the hostess, and I don’t think my heart can beat any faster when she shows us to a small table. There are couples seated all around us. It’s a quiet, intimate restaurant. Low lit. Romantic.

The perfectly wrong place to break up with someone.

I look around the sea of heads, trying to find a pair of men who look like they could be in the mob, but all I see are couples eating dinner. Vince pulls out my chair and I sit down, dread filling my stomach again. He sits into his chair with a sigh and I study his handsome features, suddenly obsessed with memorizing every detail: the black wave of his hair, his gem-like eyes, so dark and bright at the same time, and that gorgeous dent at the bottom of his throat. He gives me a wide, happy smile as he watches me and I feel a sick wave of guilt.

So when the fuck am I supposed to do this? Before or after dessert?

The waitress appears before I can summon up the courage, and I order a glass of wine before Vince can object. He glares at me as she returns, pouring the glass as I watch it greedily.

The waitress leaves after pouring him a glass and I grab mine before he can do anything, and I take a huge gulp. Oh, God. It’s like ecstasy. It’s so delicious and it goes down so smoothly. It flattens my nerves almost immediately.

“You’re not supposed to drink,” he says, glowering.

“I need it.”

Vince’s eyebrows narrow. “So what’s this about? You said that we needed to talk, which is usually code for something really bad. So talk.”

I twist the ring around my finger, my nerves ramping up again. Vince’s dark face looms in front of me as I try to scout the restaurant.

I don’t want to do this.

Tony will kill everyone you love.

The engagement ring falls on the table. I take it, my hand shaking, and drop it in front of him. Then I take another giant gulp of wine.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

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He looks more angry than hurt. He probably thinks this is some sort of game-a ruse. I shake my head, willing tears to come.

“We’re done.”

A stunned silence follows my words, broken only by the waiter, who slinks up to the table.

“Can I get you any-”

Vincent just shoots him a glare that makes the waiter’s face pale in fear, and he walks off.

“Like hell we are. I don’t know what kind of sick game this is-”

“It’s not a game,” I say in a hollow voice. “I’m moving in with Maria and I’m leaving you.”

He looks like I just reached across the table and slapped him. “Is this because of the casino thing? I told you that I don’t have a choice, Ade.”

Keep it together. Don’t fucking cry.

“I know it’s not your fault, but I promised myself I’d leave you if anything like this ever happened again. I don’t want to be mixed in this anymore, I’m sorry.”

The horrible silence stretches between us, making me burn brighter as he sits there and says nothing. Then I finally can’t take it anymore, and I look at him. His face is red, too, and flushed with anger.

“You came to me,” he says between his teeth. “You said you didn’t have a problem, that you could deal with it. Did I just imagine it when you said that weeks ago? When I saved your fucking ass from your cunt of a mother, and you told me you would never leave me?”

I’m so sorry.

His outrage affects me, even though I don’t mean the things I’m saying.

“I-I lied,” I say, staring down at my lap. “I was afraid of you. I always have been.”

The look on his face is worse than anger. His face flushes red with embarrassment and then twists in self-loathing. “You lied to me all this time?” he asks in a small voice. “Why?”

Hurt him enough so that he’ll never come back.

My voice rises in a sharp tone. “You never gave me a choice. There was always something-your boss’ threats, the FBI, the Rizzos just waiting for me to get out in the open so that they could rape me,” my voice trembles and I inhale a sharp gasp.

“I don’t believe this.” He sits back into his chair, looking lost. It takes everything inside me not to take his hand, which rests on the table lifelessly.

Then his black eyes flicker to me, smoldering. “If you leave, we’re done. I told you in the beginning that I wouldn’t be able to let you go, but I won’t be with someone who is only with me out of fear.”

“Isn’t that the point?” I take my purse and stand up abruptly.

I hate myself.

His eyes narrow as he watches me get up without a second’s hesitation. “It was about the money, wasn’t it? You just wanted me to pay for your tuition. Gold-digging-”

“Fuck you,” I snap. “Don’t you dare call me a gold-digger. I never even got to finish my classes last semester because of you and your fucking family.”

“No, fuck you!” he bellows.

Half of the restaurant is tuned in to our snarling, ugly fight. Couples laugh behind their hands as they stare at Vincent’s red face. I want to disappear. I pray that someone will burst into the restaurant and shoot me. Anything would be better than this.

I’ve succeeded in humiliating him beyond redemption. He shouts something else at my back as I leave, but I don’t hear it. I clutch my hand to my face, trying to stem the flow of tears. I scurry past the sea of bemused guests, who whisper and smirk behind their hands.

As soon as I walk outside, my phone buzzes.

Good work. You start tonight.