Page 77 of Texting the CEO's Obsession
I’m done.
I have to be.
CHAPTER 23
NICK
Every second that ticks by has my temper ratcheting higher.
Marcus convinced me against going after Riley after she ran off. To be accurate, he physically held me back from chasing her Uber down and didn’t let go of me until he had my lawyer on the phone. It was a good choice, asmartchoice, but it did nothing to help the boiling rage in my gut.
Jerry will be able to strong-arm the news outlet into taking the article down, considering he has the full weight of the lawandmy bank account to throw at them.
Getting it pulled won’t fix the damage that’s already been done.
It won’t stop Riley from having read it in the first place.
It won’t get Riley back into my arms.
I scowl at that last thought, downing the room-temperature mouthful of scotch left in my glass before refilling it. Marcus eyes the amount of liquor I pour like he wants to say something,but he wisely keeps his mouth shut, just sighing and leaning back in the chair beside mine.
I just let the only girl who’s ever meant anything to me run off so I could deal with fuckingPR.
And, yeah, sure, I know it’s deeper than that. The allegations will hit her reputation harder than mine because the media will always go after women harder than men, andthat’swhy I want it kept as quiet as possible. I don’t want this to ruin her. I don’t want it to ruinus. Still, sitting around drinking myself blind while I wait for my lawyer to call me back feels like a mistake.
The scotch sears down my throat as I take an over-large gulp, treating it like a gas station swill rather than the several thousand dollar bottle it is.
Bruno wanders back into the dining room with a swagger in his step and a smirk on his lips, and my fingers tighten dangerously around my glass. Marcus shoots him a look somewhere in between pleading and warning, but it does about as much good as waving a red flag at a bull.
“Damn, she ran right off, didn’t she?” he guffaws, sliding his hands into his pockets, grinning smugly at me from across the table. “Guess your little bitch wasn’t?—”
Before he manages to finish his sentence, my hand whips out and damn near tears Marcus’s jacket in half. He jumps back, but not fast enough to stop me from freeing his pistol from the shoulder holster he habitually wears. It’s been a long time since I’ve carried regularly, but I can always count on Marcus to have his piece on him.
I level it at Bruno’s head without hesitation, flicking the safety off as I drain the rest of my glass.
“Fuck off, Brucey boy,” I say, hoarse with fury. “Unless you want me to make your fucking eardrums connect.”
Ma steps into the room just as Bruno starts to laugh incredulously. I slide the safety back in place before she can even say anything. Her eyes are icy and furious as she glares between the two of us.
“Go cool off,” she snaps at me.
I snag the half-full bottle of scotch off the table and shoulder-check Bruno harshly on my way past. Ma sighs as I storm down the hallway, but I don’t let it stop me.
Instinctively, I head for the back garden. It was always where I went when I needed to think back when this house was still home. My feet carry me there without any conscious input. A drop of scotch spills from the side of my mouth as I drink straight from the bottle, pacing aimlessly over the manicured grass. I angrily wipe it away with the back of my hand.
I’ve never been more furious in mylife, and I know that at least half of it is because I feel fucking helpless.
Things were going well between us. We were handling the threatening photos and Bruno’s dickish tendencies; Riley even seemed willing to accept the mafia ties that I come along with. At the very least, she came to talk to me after hearing everything from Ma instead of running off screaming.
So why did this have to happennow?
Why did it have to happen at all?
I told her I’d handle this, and instead of using everything at my disposal to get ithandled, I let the cops sit around with their thumbs up their asses trying to figure it out. I’ve lived withoutusing any of my old mafia ties for so long. I thought doing things by the book would work just as well here as it has in the past, but instead it lost me everything that really mattered. My hands itch to curl into fists and turn whoever’s responsible for this into a bloody pulp, but I don’t even know who’s behind this.
I have nowhere to turn my anger. It’s starting to fester and show its true colors the longer I pace through the gardens, drowning myself in scotch.
I’m pissed, don’t get me wrong, but what I really am isguilty.
