Reign (The Syndicate_ Crime and Passion Book 2)(26)

“What the fuck do you think I did? I choked him until he passed out,” Santo said.

“That’s all?”

“Nah, I let him come to and then choked him back out a couple times. Got bored, so I kicked the shit out of him and then let him bleed out,” Santo said.

Davey shook his head, though his expression was not disapproving.

“What?” Santo said, shrugging. “I told the asshole not to put wax on my car.”

He then laughed uproariously and Davey joined him. I’d heard this story so many times that it no longer sickened me, a fact that left me vaguely disgusted with myself.

When his laughter finally died down, he waved me over. “Daniela, come over here,” Santo said.

I moved, crossing over the thick, smelly carpet and then stopped in front of Santo.

He reached out for me, and I leaned down, allowed him to kiss my cheek. I somehow managed not to flinch.

What was wrong with me? He was my father. He wasn’t perfect, most times wasn’t even nice. But he loved me. And I owed him.

“You look good, Daddy,” I whispered.

He scowled. “I look like shit. What did you bring?” As he spoke, his gaze turned to the dish I held.

“I thought you might be hungry, so I brought some dinner,” I said.

“Your mother’s recipes?”

I nodded. “Of course. Your favorite.” I lifted the dish slightly.

“Rita, put this shit away,” Santo barked.

Rita, who hadn’t come into the room, appeared almost instantly and grabbed the dish from my hand.

“Let me help you,” I said quickly, looking at Rita.

“No. She can handle it,” Santo said.

“Yeah, I got it, Daniela.” As Rita spoke, she scurried toward the kitchen.

“Thank you for allowing him to stay here, Davey,” I said, hoping to cover the tension of the moment.

“Of course. It’s my honor. My pleasure.”

Davey’s voice rang with sincerity, but I couldn’t tell if he was lying.

Santo was very difficult to get along with, but Davey had been around for years and managed not to get on his bad side, so maybe he was one of the few who could appreciate my father’s personality.

But then again, what else could he say? If he had expressed even a hint of displeasure, Santo would have left. But Davey would have paid a high cost for the insult.

One thing was sure, Rita wasn’t comfortable with this arrangement, but women like Rita—like me—didn’t get a vote.

“Davey, you and Rita get the fuck out of here. I need to talk to my daughter,” Santo said.

Davey stood quickly. “We’ll go to the dining room.”

Santo frowned. “Are you fucking stupid? Get out. Leave the house. Or do I need to say it another way?” Santo growled.

Davey shook his head. “Take your time, Santo. We got shit to do anyway. Rita, get your shoes on,” he called.

Rita didn’t say anything, but when she came out of the kitchen, she was wearing shoes and had her purse thrown over her shoulder. She was probably used to stuff like this, or maybe she just didn’t have the energy to protest.

“They didn’t have to leave,” I said when they had left, trying to ignore the bitter sting of the cowardice that had kept me quiet earlier.

“I needed to talk with you privately.”

Santo’s entire demeanor had changed.

With Davey, with everyone, he put up a front that all was good. Pretended that we couldn’t see the bruises that still hadn’t faded. Couldn’t see the way he favored the side where all of his ribs had been cracked.

That we didn’t know of his humiliation at having been delivered to his own front door naked and hogtied, ironic for one who had so often humiliated others.

But we knew, and we saw, and when I was alone with him, I could see that he hadn’t forgotten that.

Again I was resolved.

Because I saw his awareness and I saw what came with it, too, saw the thirst for vengeance that Santo might not even know was there.

It was there, though, and no matter what he’d said, what he’d promised to Sergei and the Syndicate, he wouldn’t be able to abide the humiliation.

I understood that the Syndicate was far more powerful than my father was, more powerful than he’d ever been. But he didn’t or wouldn’t accept the fact that they were. My father’s capacity for self-delusion knew no bounds, and in something as key as his status, Santo wouldn’t relent, not even in the face of certain defeat.

So it was on my shoulders now to keep Santo from lashing out.

I was the only one left, was the only one who could try to reign that anger in, the only one who might have a chance to keep people safe, to protect those who wouldn’t deserve what would happen to them when Santo broke his word.