Salvatore: a Dark Mafia Romance(67)

My father made no reply, which surprised me. But it also strengthened me.

Every man in the room seemed to be holding their breath.

“Leave Lucia out of this. She’s my concern and mine alone. Period. Let’s talk about the damage done, who’s behind it, and what we’re doing about it.”

He exhaled but turned his attention back to the task at hand. I assumed he’d deal with me later, but when that time came, he’d learn there would be no more dealing with me. My strings had been cut. I was no longer his puppet.

Maybe it took that contract to teach me that, to break me from my weakness, my cowardice when it came to Franco Benedetti. If any good could come out of something as terrible as stealing a life, this had to be it.

“Back to who is behind this,” Roman began. “I believe the Pagani family is carrying out the attacks. I don’t believe Isabella DeMarco would have her cousin assassinated. Assuming that was the intent.”

“What else would it be? They put two bullets in him,” I said.

Roman agreed. “Maybe Isabella is a bigger threat than we gave her credit for. Maybe Luke was an underling, a cover for her.”

“Maybe the Pagani family is acting alone?” I added.

“No.” My father shook his head. “I’ve spoken with the senior Paul Pagani.”

Paul Pagani Sr., an eighty-six-year-old man who still refused to hand over the reins of the family business to his son. Although knowing the son, I understood why.

“He has not authorized any shootings, and he is aware of talks between DeMarco and his son. When he learned of it, he forbade any action.”

“But his son could have gone behind his back,” Roman added.

“And attempted to kill Luke DeMarco?” Stefano, one of my cousins, asked.

“There’s something we’re missing,” I said, shaking my head.

I caught Roman’s concerned look.

“Pagani has stated if it is his men who carried out the shootings without his permission, they’ll be dealt with, but I’m not satisfied,” my father said. His phone rang, and he looked at the display. “Excuse me.”

He stood, and although he didn’t leave the room, he turned his back to the table and walked a few steps away.

The men at the table continued to talk, but Roman and I remained silent, listening to the call.

“What do you mean?” my father asked, checking his watch. “That was hours ago.” Silence on the line. “You’ve tried him? His driver?” Silence. “Fine. Reschedule it. And find him.”

When he turned to us again, he immediately met my gaze and gestured to the door. Roman also stood, and the three of us stepped into the hall and closed the conference room door behind us.

“Dominic didn’t make his flight.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, alarm bells sounding.

“I mean that was the fucking captain, calling to say he was about to lose his time slot,” my father snapped.

I watched him try to call Dominic, but the call went directly to voice mail.

“His driver is missing as well.”

“Missing?” Roman asked.

My father placed another call and spoke into the phone. “Get Natalie and Jacob packed up and to my house. I don’t care what you have to do to make that happen, but get them here now.”

“I have to go,” I said, pulling my phone from my pocket.

“Godamnit, I need you here, Salvatore!”

I stopped, took a deep breath in, and turned to face him.

“Dominic has always wanted what you have,” my father stated. “What you will inherit from me once I am ready to retire. That’s no secret, not for any of us.”

I listened in silence.

“I don’t like all of the things he does,” he continued, the words obviously difficult to say. “I sometimes don’t like who he is.” He breathed in deeply. “But he is still your brother.”

I shifted on my feet. My father didn’t usually resort to making me feel guilty to do something I didn’t want to do, and I wasn’t sure that’s what he was doing now, but what he said triggered something akin to guilt inside me.

“I was harsh with him when I learned what he did to Natalie,” he said.

“No, not harsh,” I disagreed. “It needed to be done. Dominic was the only person in the wrong on that one. Question is, does he realize it? Does he think so?”

My father ran his hand through his thinning hair and sat on the chair just beneath the window. Seeing him weary—it was strange, felt wrong. I’d only ever seen my father as strong. All powerful. And ultimately, always in control.

I always thought I’d celebrate his fall, his weakening.