My father died on a Wednesday night. I didn’t miss him. In fact, I was relieved the miserable bastard was gone.
By Thursday morning, my family’s attorney sent a messenger service with a note from my father. Even from the grave, the old man could wreak havoc on my life.
I sat at my dad’s desk, the letter clutched in my hand, torn between tearing open the envelope and throwing it in the trash. These were his last words. His final thoughts on how to live my life. He liked to tell me everything I did wrong. I did nothing right in his eyes.
“Fuck you,” I said and tossed the letter into the trash. “I’m done doing your dirty work.”
My best friend bent down and grabbed the envelope. “Open it, Battle. You need to know what he wants.”
Marcello Salvatore had been my friend since childhood. We were the same age, lived on the same street, and joined The Devil’s Knights together. And he was usually the voice of reason when I wanted to shut out the world.
“No need,” I told him. “My dad wants to tell me I’m an idiot and that my ideas suck. That’s all he ever did. Nothing was ever good enough.”
Marcello sat on the desk and shoved the letter into my chest. “Read it.”
“My dad didn’t give a damn about me when he was alive. Why should I care about him now?”
Marcello slid his finger beneath the envelope’s fold. “Fine, I’ll read it.”
The chair creaked as I leaned back, arms crossed over my chest. “Go ahead.”
Marcello cleared his throat and read aloud.
Drake,
Find Olivia and Tate Maxwell. Provide them with protection and financial support and ensure they never want for anything. They are your burden now.
- Ethan Battle
Not Love Dad, or any acknowledgment that he gave a shit about me.
On the day he passed away, we were fighting about something stupid. The details no longer seemed relevant because he and I rarely agreed. But his request intrigued me.
“He didn’t even mention your mom.” Marcello threw the letter onto the desk. “Pretty shitty to dump this on you. I hate to disrespect the dead, but… he was such an asshole.”
I snickered. “Are you really surprised?”
Marcello shook his head.
He understood family obligations and horrible fathers. His dad was abusive and cruel, and he had the scars to prove it. Mine wasn’t much better. Except my scars were on the inside.
At the time of my father’s massive heart attack, he was scolding me for not living up to his standards.
Nothing I did was ever good enough.
Good riddance.
Marcello shoved his fingers through strands of black hair that flopped onto his forehead. He was always tugging at the ends, so it looked messy. “Who are Tate and Olivia Maxwell?”
I stuffed the letter into the envelope and shrugged. “No idea. But I’m going to find out why they’re so important.”
