Page 8 of The Deceptions
"Tonight, we'll rest. In the morning, we'll eat breakfast, and then I'll completely brief you on the mission." It's odd he's giving me this much time to come to terms with where I am and what I'm about to do.
Technically, I could refuse. I could walk away and tell him to go fuck himself and that I'll never stay in this god-forsaken town again.
"Get some rest, we'll talk over breakfast, okay?"
I nod in response, watching his retreating back as he goes into the other bedroom with his suitcase and shuts the door, leaving me to my own crazy thoughts that I don't want to drown in. Fuck that. I'm not drowning tonight. Well, not in my misery. Maybe in a small bottle of vodka or whiskey from the snack bar conveniently located in our room. So what if they charge us an enormous amount of money?
It’s what I have to do to survive right now.
Morningfor me comes too quickly, leaving me unrested and hungover. Way too hungover. I swear a small band plays inside my brain with booming bass and screaming lyrics.
Fuck.
Who knew two small bottles of booze could turn into ten small bottles and get me completely drunk off my ass. The upside is that I was more relaxed than I've ever felt and practically melted into the bed the moment my head hit the pillow at 3 am.
The downside is, I tossed and turned, wanting to puke my brains out the moment the sun rose and peeked through the windows.
And the worst part? I'm aching to do it all over again when I realized what city I woke up in.
Greenwood.
So much for a good start to the day. But what else do I have to do? Jonathan is going to hole me up in this hotel room until wehopefully leave on Sunday and I learn my fate. Dread sits heavy in my stomach at the prospect. What will my uncle have me do? I have an inkling, but I don’t want to believe it. Not yet, at least.
"Good morning, Sunshine," Jonathan quips when I zombie walk out of my bedroom and slump at the small, round table near the kitchenette. “Or should I say, good afternoon?” He smirks, checking his black wristwatch and chuckling at the time.
Two P.M.
Whatever. I needed the rest. Despite my shitty sleeping situation.
I wave a hand. "There's nothing good about this morning or afternoon," I groan, rubbing my temples, willing my damn hangover to go away.
I need fucking coffee inserted straight into my veins before I can even think about our discussion.
"How about some coffee while we wait for room service to drop off the French toast and eggs I ordered you?" It's like he read my mind. Of course, he’s my uncle. My family.
Jonathan wasn’t around much when I was a kid. I have vague memories of him visiting my dad, playing poker with the other Viotto brothers, and drinking into the night. Something changed, though. Maybe it was when Jonathan got into the military, trained, and was forced overseas for an extended period of time. It must have changed him and his mentality. When he came back around, he was a completely different person. More rigid. Calculating. No longer the carefree, youngest Viotto son.
After his stint in the military, he was assigned Veritas—a secret agency—and was outcast from the Viotto family forever. A man in a government agency wasn’t welcome in the criminal underworld of California. They all turned their backs on their brother, keeping him out of their businesses.
So, he did the same and stopped attempting to speak with them.
Well, until he came and saved me. My question has always been, why, though? Why save me? I was a part of that world my entire life. Of course, not by choice. I was forced into it. But then Jonathan stepped in, helping me recover and treating me like the daughter he never had. Unlike my own father, who split the moment trouble was on the horizon. I guess he learned his lesson after attempting to overthrow some of his brothers and take their territory. After that incident, he was cast from the family and came to Franco to work by his side. And then? Well, I haven’t seen or heard from him in over five years. Good riddance. I hope I never have to lay eyes on him ever again.
I peek an eye open the moment Jonathan sets down my coffee cup in front of me, and the smell of Southern Pecan Coffee hits my nostrils. It's heaven in a cup. Also, very suspicious.
He’s never this nice in the morning. Or ever, really. He's buttering me up for the slaughter.
"You're being awfully suspect. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're trying to butter me up for the big case reveal." I narrow my eyes, zoning in on him as he casually refuses to look me in the eyes.
He doesn't say another word; instead, he ventures back to the coffee pot and makes another cup for himself before sitting down across from me.
"Now, why would I need to butter you up?" he asks, arching a brow.
"Because you know being back here is a goddamn nightmare," I grumble, sipping my coffee before I chew him out. The moment the sweet pecan hits my taste buds, I sigh with satisfaction. God, it tastes just like the pecan pie my mama used to make. "Besides, you never buy me my favorite coffee. You said it tastes like ass."
He scrunches his nose, putting his cup on the table. "It's not awful," he grumbles, getting to his feet as a knock sounds at the door and our food is wheeled in on a fancy cart with covered dishes. "Thanks," Jonathan says, slipping the girl twenty bucks, and she retreats. "Now, let's eat, and then once you're human again, we can talk."
We quickly and quietly eat our breakfast at the table. My mind goes in circles on what he's about to say. He's not usually this cryptic about the details. Never worried about telling me the truth. Right now? He's avoiding it at every turn. Delicious breakfast? Check. My favorite coffee he never drinks? Check. What's next?
