TONY: Book 1 of The De Luca Brothers Series [COMPLETED]

42:

My breathing halts as Morgan stares at me, her eyes widening like saucers as she outright freezes. Cursing, I grab the camera and quickly shut it off, giving it to her as her eyes glisten with tears, "Go through the window."

"What's?!" She whisper shouts. "No! I'm not leaving you—"

"We don't have enough time," I snap quietly, standing up. "I'll go downstairs, you find the police station; this is my house after all."

"No Zachary," grumbles Toro. "Is someone there? Don't go—"

"I love you," I blurt out before ending call on him, setting it on silent before pocketing it. "Leave from the window, if I don't call you in five, that means it's him."

"I'm not—"

"Morgan," I insist. "Please just listen to me."

She sniffles, a tear rolling down her cheek before nodding, walking towards the window and opening it up. It groans and I wince. I hear a sudden clutter from bellow, then the distinct sound of the creaking step.

Morgan throws herself out of the window, I rush to shut it after her, not sparing a second to glance if she's alright. Turning around I sigh as the door bursts open to reveal the man I loathe, my stepdad.

"Z-Zac?" He stutters, clearly wasted as his bloodshot gaze analyses my presence sceptically. "What you doin' here boy?"

"I've come to clean the house, I heard you went out of time," I shrug.

He swallows and sways, "Have you been police station?"

"No," I lie thickly. "I was going to but came here to... reminisce."

He exhales and visibly relaxes, "Yeah, of course. I'm moving out anyway 'cause this place just brings up too much emotions for your ol' pal. I'm actually here to pick up my things."

I bite my tongue and my knuckles clench, no. "At least share a beer with me first. I-I know we never really got along, but mom always wanted us to. In her memory before you fuck off."

He looks taken aback for a moment, if not for his drunken haze he'd probably seen through my bullshit and made a runner, but surprisingly nods, "Sure."

"I'm assuming you're stocked," I respond bitterly.

He shoots me a warning glance but nods. We silently walk down the stairs, him messily and me silently. I can just imagine myself kicking him down the stairs, or slyly grabbing one of mom's scarves and chocking him from behind or—

"How's, uh, university?" He asks, reaching the fridge and sliding two cold ones across the counter.

"College," I correct before shrugging. "Dropping out, I've slacked ever since mom died so there's just no point- plus the debt will be huge towards the end so using mom's money, I'm gonna pay off everything now."

He clears his throat, "Yeah. About that..."

My eyes narrow, "What?"

"I was curious about the will, since she states that her child gets all her money. I was wondering if you could give me a hand and possibly give me like half- or a quarter? Just for a pick-me-up before I leave town."

Anger washes over me like a tsunami; my knuckles clench and my brows furrow, "Are you fucking serious?!"

He blinks but doesn't look taken aback, "I am you father—"

"Father? Father!? You're merely my stepdad, even then I feel sick calling you that! You hit me and my mom, abused the two of us and was a shit role model... but you still want more," I scoff. "You can fuck right off."

He licks his lips, eyes narrowing, "I thought we could discuss this like civilised men, y'know, since we're havin' a beer an' all."

"'Talk civilised' says the abusive step dad," I commentate. "'Pretend Nothing happened' hints the murder." My eyes widen at my slip up and I snap my head in his direction, realising that his breathing has stopped. He slowly looks towards me, realisation dawning on his features, guilt in his eyes with a fiery anger intertwined.

"You're a decoy." It's not a question, it's a simple statement that transforms our entire situation from moderate anger to complete danger: me being the one in harms way. Synchronised, we both stand up, however I hastily round the chair to avoid him, creating distance.

"You know," he starts. "I was only trying to love your mother."

"By killing her?"

"It was an accident."

"Her blood is still on your hands- and my father's," I expose. "You killed them both out of greed, framed my mother for suicide and crashed into my dad. Yet you still want more: my money. You're not getting away with it. I won't let you."

He rounds the chair but I'm already sprinting to the kitchen, sliding over the island to the cutlery draw, before wielding a knife. I turn around and point it at him as he stands on the other side, "I won't let you kill me too."

"No," he shakes his head. "I need you alive to access that account." He smashes the full bottle on the counter and grimly smirks. "Doesn't mean I can't hurt you though."

"If you loved my mother you'd turn yourself in! Pay for taking her life, for ruining her life. You're just too much of a coward to face justice," I spit.

"Coward? As you stand behind the counter away from me. Fight me like a real man," he growls.

"You beat my defenceless mother and her child countless times in the past, you're no man. You're not even remotely human," I accuse. We begin circling the counter, opposites like magnets. "Murdered another man for being fortunate to love my mother too."

"I loved her since high school!" He exclaims. "But your father ruined everything, married her off and impregnated her with an abomination: you."

"So that's why you killed him?" I scoff. "Pathetic."

"But it worked," he whispers. "However when I told your mother that night, she flipped, threatening to call the police. I couldn't allow that. I wanted a kid..."

"But she didn't," I respond."

"You're right, hence why I punctured my rubbers before pounding her since I know she wouldn't have the heart to get an abortion."

"You fucking monster!"

He clumsily slips over the counter and barrels into me feet first, despite his tipsy state he's still a brilliant fighter. He kicks into my chest and I get launched backwards, my back hitting the fridge and winding me. He uses his bottle and slashes my cheek; a flash of burning pain and the feeling of warm liquid, I know that this is going to scar.

I cry out, awkwardly stabbing forward, but he jumps to the side and swipes away the knife from my hand. I continue to sob as I touch my painful cheek, wincing. I scramble away from him, my legs and arms attacking the floor to desperately try and run away; he grips my ankle.

With my other foot I kick him in the shin. He gasps and loosens his grip, allowing me to slip free once again; I stand up and make a sprint for the door. My stepdad jumps at me from behind, tackling me to the ground and pinning me underneath him with his meaty thighs. He curses and mashes my face into the floor before smashing glass into the back of my head.

Darkness.