Page 99 of Scarred Redemption

“No, but you insinuated as much. I can’t figure out why you would.”

I walked closer, taking my time doing so. “I found it interesting that the fire inspector believed Isabel was my fiancée when there two people who heard me mention she was to be my wife. You and my brother.”

He was taken aback. “My God. After knowing you for twenty some years, you honestly believe I’d betray you for what, money?”

“Maybe. Or power.”

“That’s ridiculous, Max. I have no idea what to say.”

“Did you tell anyone?”

“Hell, no.”

I said nothing as at this point there was nothing to say and he knew better than to accuse my brother.

“I didn’t betray you, but I will kill whoever did. You have my word.”

“If you discover who did, then you will be granted your wish.”

He nodded, his eyes holding the same kind of pain I’d felt when first forced to face the possibility.

I stood where I was, no expression on my face.

But when he left, I was devastated.

* * *

“What a surprise, son.” My father’s smile was genuine as I walked into his den, a space he preferred calling his man cave. He had a drink in one hand, a cigar in the other.

Which pulled me back to the photograph in my jacket.

“I’m sorry I didn’t call.”

“Nonsense. Make yourself a drink.”

Had I just arrived without being announced years before, I would have felt his wrath. He’d softened as he’d aged, something I hadn’t thought possible.

I did as he asked while taking myself down memory lane. There were only a few pictures taken of the family, most of which my mother had placed in her preferred locations throughout the house.

My father had one with his two boys, a fishing trip that had nothing to do with catching marlin. The memory was strangely comforting even though we’d had our first lesson in tossing a man’s body out to sea. He’d told us the experience would help turn us into men.

“My favorite picture of the two of you,” he said when noticing where my attention had gone.

“At least it was captured before Roman turned green.”

It took him a couple of minutes to realize what I meant, his laugh boisterous. “That’s right. I forgot how much he hates being on the open ocean water.”

“Yes, not something he’s grown fond of in adulthood. Who was the man calling the Atlantic his watery grave?”

“I doubt I could remember, son. There were too many issues that had to be dealt with at that point in my life.”

“Come on, Dad. You used to boast you could remember every man you popped a bullet into.” I poured my drink while he mulled over my comment.

“Yes, you’re right. At least most of them, but as we get older, our memories fade.”

I moved to a leather chair across from him. “I think some things we do in life are meant to be ingrained in our memory banks.”

My father knew me too well. He took a puff of his cigar while eyeing me cautiously. “What’s on your mind, son?”