Page 9 of Pocketful of Us

"No, you're not," he interrupted me. "Not biologically, at least."

"Stop," I begged, physically twisting up in pain. "Please don’t say anything else."

"I tried to protect you," he continued. "All these years, Cal wanted you dead, but I couldn’t allow that to happen. You were his heir. The love of his life. His beating heart walking around outside of his body. Ihadto protect you –"

"You need to stop talking," I warned, dragging myself to my feet. "You're talking shit. This is crazy. You don’t mean any of this."

"You need to hear this," he pressed, coughing again. "You need to know where you came from, Jacob. It's vital."

"Stop." Shaking my head, I staggered away, desperate to be anywhere but here. "Don’t call me that." Feeling weak and disorientated, I leaned heavily against the pool table. "My name is Holden."

"Yournameis Jacob," my father continued to speak. "You are a descendent of the oldest and most powerful family in Italy, and the one true heir of the Catalinian Mafia lord."

"Dad." Tears trickled down my cheeks. "Please don’t do this to me..."

"We share the same blood, but I am not your father," he said. "You are the son of my cousin Raffaele."

"Stop it!"

"Your mother's name was Carmella."

"Dad –"

"Fifteen years ago, Cal burned your mother alive while you watched."

"No, he didn’t." Sniffling, I shook my head and glowered at him. "My mother's name is Olivia."

"I'm so sorry, Jacob –"

"Stop calling me that," I snarled, crying like a fucking baby. "You're my dad and Mama's my mom. I know I'm not much to write home about. I know I'm a complete fuck up, but I'myourfuck up, Dad. I'm yours!"

"That's why she's been treating you like a second-class citizen your whole life," Pres added. "Because in her eyes, you were –"

"Shut the hell up," I hissed. "Don’t talk about my mother like that!"

"Who? The woman who is nowhere to be seen?" Pres tossed back. "You were shot, Sketch. Fucking shot. Your piece of shit fake-dad's here. At least he tried to do the right thing. But where's your so-called mother?"

I flinched. "Don’t –"

"That's right," he quickly carried on, gutting me with his words. "She's not here. Because she doesn’tcare.Because you'renotherson!"

"Shut your goddamned mouth, Quinton –"

"Olivia isn't your mother," Dad interrupted. "Your mother's name was Carmella and when you were three years old, you watched her die."

5

Sketch

"Bullshit." I shook my head, vehemently denying his words. "You're a fucking liar just like the rest of them!" Heart gunning wildly in my chest, I moved to go to him, only to stagger backwards. "I didn’t watch any goddamn woman burn and the last I checked, my mother was alive and breathing – hating my guts, but breathing all the same." Banging up against the counter of the bar, I dragged in a pained breath and tried to steady myself. Pain. It was everywhere and my head was spinning. "Screw you. Screw all of y'all." Vision blurring, I grasped at the counter. "I just need Romi."

I needed my girl, dammit.

She was the realest thing about my life.

She was the realest thing aboutme.

Without her, I was lost.

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