I love you, Uncle Dominic.
Effie
PS: I hope you like the cookies.
PPS: I got a phone for my 11th birthday. This is my number if you want to call me.
I read the letter twice, memorizing the phone number, the surge of emotion as I heard her little voice through her words breaking my heart but also filling me with hope. How did she not hate me for having up and left? How could she forgive me?
How had I created something so good?
I had to smile at the eavesdropping piece. She was my daughter through and through. And I wondered at the gifts. I sent money monthly. I never sent things, though. Did Isabella buy them and say they were from me? She’d do anything for her daughter. She loved her fiercely. Would she even cover for my lack?
Gia returned from the bathroom and sat down beside me on the bed. I didn’t pull the letter away when her gaze fell on it.
“Will you ever tell her the truth?”
“I don’t know.”
“She loves you. And she has a right to know.”
I folded up the letter and tucked it into my pocket, rising to stand. “She’s safer if my enemies don’t know about her.” I walked over to look out the window at the growing number of cars. “And after tomorrow, I will have enemies.”
Gia came to stand by my side.
“This is only just beginning, Gia.”
The four of us left early the following morning, filling Lucia and Gia in on the way there.
“The agent, do you know his name?” Gia asked.
“David Lazaro. Ring a bell?”
“He was Mateo’s contact.”
“Roman will have found out by now,” I said.
“No doubt. Henderson’s house is here to the left.” We parked around the corner of a beautiful, not too large house and climbed out, the early morning damp and chilly. We walked to the house in silence. The old man, Mr. Henderson, greeted us, obviously surprised by the presence of the women.
“Ladies, you’ll stay here while we meet?” Salvatore said as if he were asking the question.
“My housekeeper will make coffee,” Mr. Henderson said.
With that, we went into his office and closed the door.
“Thank you for coming. I know we don’t have much time, so I’ll get right to business. First, I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you.”
Salvatore answered while I tried to keep my face hard and unexpressive as stone.
“I realize you don’t know me, but I used to work for an agency where I had access to certain…things.”
“What sort of things?”
“Surveillance. Video, audio, a few other things.”
We both sat there, confused. “I’m sorry—” Salvatore began, but Henderson cut him off.
“We’ll get to it. But first, the will. What will be read this afternoon will come as a surprise to your uncle. I know for a fact he is unaware of this last change made just days before your father’s death.”
“What change?” I asked. “And how do you know about it?”
“I stood witness. Your father trusted me.”
“Mr. Henderson, I’m sorry, but I don’t understand,” Salvatore said.
“You will.” Henderson turned to me. “Dominic, your father is naming you as his successor.”
The words slammed into me. “What?”
“It was his wish that you become head of the Benedetti family.”
“But—”
Salvatore put a hand on my forearm. “Everything has been decided already. I signed over power to Roman,” he told Henderson.
He shook his head. “Your father was living when you did that. He has the final say. And he has spoken.”
“You’re going to take everything away from Roman?” Salvatore asked.
“Not me. Your father.”
“Why me? I’m not even—” I started.
Henderson turned to me. “Franco Benedetti is named as your father on your birth certificate. You are his son, raised as a Benedetti. And you are named as head of the family.”
“What happens to Roman?”
“He’s cut off. He won’t inherit a cent.”
“Why?” Salvatore asked. “Why this sudden change?”
Henderson cleared his throat. “Because of me.” He looked at each of us, his face grave. “I came across something some time ago, something I had to keep quiet for too long. Time came for me to go to your father with what I’d learned.”
“Spit it out,” I said. “What are you talking about?”
Salvatore didn’t speak.
“The man who ordered the assassination of your brother was closer to home than you know.”
No.
“Your uncle ordered the hit.” He paused as if for effect. “And had you been there, Salvatore, as was planned, you would have died too.”
“What?” I had to clear my throat. “What kind of proof do you have?”
“A phone conversation with a man named Jake Sapienti.”
Time stopped. Apart from the pounding of blood in my ears, the room went completely silent. Henderson’s eyes locked on mine as if giving me the time to see. Willing me to understand.
It felt like I’d taken a fist to my gut when I did see.
Salvatore glanced at me, and I knew he too knew the name of my father.
“Recording?” he asked.
Speech escaped me. I sat wordless.
“Sapienti’s phone was tapped. Feds had been looking for information on his employers for a long time. Back then, they had bigger fish to fry than your uncle. And then evidence got old. Lost or forgotten.”
“Lost or forgotten?” Salvatore asked. “How does something like that get ‘lost or forgotten?’”
“We’re human, and there are a lot of bad people out there, son. Your uncle wasn’t the worst of them, not then.”
“I want to hear it,” I said.
Henderson glanced at me, and I wondered if all color had drained from my face.
“Are you sure?”
Salvatore’s hand fell on my arm. I didn’t look at him, though. I only nodded once. Henderson got up and fiddled with some ancient-looking equipment.
As soon as the phone connected, Roman’s voice—laced with disgust—came through, the line clear.
“You’re one short,” he hissed.
Salvatore stiffened beside me. We both knew what he meant.
“Keep your money. You didn’t tell me who he was. Find someone else to do your dirty work, rat. When Benedetti learns who ordered the hit on his son, you’ll get what you have coming,” Jake hissed.
“And you won’t? He’d never believe you, and he’ll kill you.”
“If I had known who he was…”
Sapienti trailed off, his tone quieter.
I’d never heard Jake Sapienti’s voice, but I had to first process the fact that the man who had fathered me, the man whom my mother supposedly loved, had killed my brother. Had shot down her beloved son.
“Mr. Sapienti’s body turned up shortly after Sergio’s assassination.”
“How did you come by this recording?” I asked.
“The federal government hired the services of the agency I worked for. That’s all I am at liberty to say on that,” Henderson replied.
“Why now? Why go to my father after all this time?” Salvatore asked.
“And how do we know you’re not fabricating this? Why do you give a shit what happens to the Benedetti family?” I asked, on my feet now, pacing to stand behind my chair and glare at the old man.
“Dominic—” Salvatore started.
“People don’t do shit like this out of the goodness of their hearts, Salvatore. Get a fucking clue.”
I turned and walked the length of the room, running both hands through my hair, trying to make sense of what I’d just learned.
That my uncle had hired the man who had fathered me to kill my half-brother.
“Mr. Henderson, perhaps—”
“My son was the bystander who died that day along with your brother. He was a young man, engaged to be married in a few weeks’ time. So you see, your uncle was ultimately responsible for his death as well.”
“Why now?” I asked. “Why didn’t you go to my father then?”
Henderson sat back in his seat and turned his palms up on the desk. “Because I’m alone now. My wife passed a few months ago. There’s no one left who can be hurt or killed because of what I do now.”
“And Roman doesn’t know about the change in the will?” Salvatore asked.
“No.”
He checked his watch and stood. “We need to go, Mr. Henderson. We’ll be late for my father’s funeral.”
Henderson rose to his feet. I looked at the old man, tall but bent and tired.
“Why would he name me as successor, when it was my father who killed his most beloved son?” I wasn’t sure who I was asking.
“It was his final act perhaps to do right by you. He did love you like his own, and he regretted that final night very much. In the short time I knew him, he talked about it often. About you often.” Henderson walked around the desk. “Old age makes us see things differently, son.”
He put a hand on my shoulder. I looked at that hand, unable to speak, unwilling to feel. I shrugged it off. Salvatore and I walked toward the door.
“One more thing, gentlemen,” Henderson started. We stopped and turned to him. He straightened something on his desk before looking at us. “The guards who will be at the reading of the will are loyal to your father.”
I watched the old man’s eyes. Heard his message.
Salvatore thanked him and said good-bye. We walked out of the room.
Lucia and Gia stood. Gia’s eyes when she met mine turned angry, fierce even, and she shifted that anger to Henderson. Salvatore must have seen it too, because just as she took a step toward the old man, he intervened, taking her by the arm.
“Let’s go. We’re leaving.”
She glanced from him to me and back.
“I said we’re leaving,” Salvatore said.
Lucia took Gia’s other hand. “Come on. We’ll talk in the car.”
20
Gia
Lucia told me this morning that she’d worn the dress I wore now to her father’s funeral so many years ago. That she’d only worn it that one time. We dubbed it the funeral dress. I decided I would burn it once I finished with it today.
While we waited for the men to return, she asked me about Dominic. Asked if we were a couple. I hadn’t known how to answer that, so I shifted the conversation to her and her family. The way she spoke about Salvatore, I knew she loved him. And the way he looked at her, hell, he worshipped the ground she walked on.
I admit, I grew envious. I’d never had anything like that before. Not even close, not even with James.
Now as the men sat silent in the front seat of the SUV as we drove toward the church, I watched them, studying the physical differences, the light to the dark in physical appearance. But the thing that impressed me more was the similarity of the darkness inside each of the brothers. I knew the life they came from. Shrouded in shadow, they had seen and done terrible things. Things neither would forget. Things perhaps neither should be forgiven.
I was a part of this world too. Their world. The day I’d seen Mateo tortured and killed had plunged me into its murky depths. We sat there now, all of us. The difference between Dominic and I, and Salvatore and Lucia, was that Salvatore and Lucia lived in the light. They could walk away. They had once and would again. In a matter of hours, they would shrug off the darkness and leave it behind, scrub it from their bodies before touching their children. But Dominic and I—I knew in every cell of my body there would be no walking away. He and I were embedded in dark. We would die in it.
“I don’t want to stay for the reading of the will,” Lucia said. “I don’t want you in there either, Salvatore.”
Her face had lost its shine and gone pale. Neither man had spoken since we’d gotten into the car, but she must have picked up on the thing vibrating off them just as I had.
Salvatore climbed out of the SUV and opened Lucia’s door. They stood there then, just outside the vehicle, heads bowed together, talking in whispers, having such a private moment I felt like an intruder to watch but found myself unable to drag my gaze away.
Salvatore wiped her tears with his hands. They stood so close. It was as though they were one person. He then kissed her forehead and lay a hand on her belly. Lucia nodded, and Salvatore met Dominic’s eyes, a signal passing between them.
“Let’s go in,” Dominic said.
My heart raced; my belly was in knots. Black sedans lined the street, the hearse already emptied, Franco Benedetti’s body likely already waiting at the top of the aisle.
“Is Victor here?” I asked, clutching the bag that held the pistol.
“I don’t know.”
“Why didn’t Lucia want Salvatore to go to the reading of the will?”
He shook his head, his mind obviously a million miles away.
“What is it? What did that man tell you?”
Dominic turned to me, but if he was about to tell me, he changed his mind.
“Let’s get this over with.”
He shifted his gaze to a point ahead, disappearing into thought, moving through the motions.
The organ began to play just as we entered the church. Everyone stood and turned. and I felt my face burn as every eye in the place landed on us.
The service was about to begin, but we’d interrupted. And now, we were the center of attention.
“So much for a subtle entrance,” Dominic whispered in my ear, straightening, his body seeming to grow taller.
I looked up at him, seeing how he’d schooled his features to reveal nothing, seeing his strength, the cruelty in his gaze as he scanned each and every person in the place with cold, shuttered eyes.
I shuddered beside him, grateful that gaze did not fall on me.
He placed his hand around the back of my neck, pressing the cool collar into my skin; a symbol of protection. One of possession. He would have me and everyone know it.
Dominic Benedetti owned me.
And in some strange, sick way, I wanted to be his.
I told myself it was for now. A game, a role I would play. A necessary thing. But if I scratched lightly at the surface of that thought, I’d see the lie.
We walked up the aisle slowly, purposefully. Dominic cast his gaze down every row we passed, as if he were boss. As if he owned each and every one of the people here.
The first telephone rang, and Dominic checked his watch. I looked up at him and saw the ruthless set of his eyes as he turned to the man who answered. Someone I did not know. Someone I felt sure he made a mental note of.
But then, in my periphery, I saw Angus Scava, James’ father. My would be father-in-law and Victor’s uncle.
I swallowed, unable to take my eyes from his. He cocked his head to the side, one corner of his mouth rising infinitesimally as he nodded as if to say, “well done.”
Another phone rang somewhere behind us, but we walked on. And there, just two rows ahead of Angus Scava and directly behind the near-empty pew that awaited us, stood Victor, his face red with rage, his gaze burning into mine.
My first instinct wasn’t fear. It was to laugh. He looked like he would explode.
Dominic’s hand around my neck tightened, and I clutched my bag closer, feeling the hardness of the pistol.
I returned Victor’s glare. Then, just like his father had done to me, I cocked my head to the side and narrowed my eyes, conveying to him my warning. War had come to his doorstep. An eye for an eye. A life for a life. He had killed my brother. I would kill him. Dominic would make certain of it.
Victor’s phone rang. He broke our gaze to dig it out of his pocket, and when he did, we stopped walking. We’d reached the open casket.
One more phone was answered then. Dominic’s uncle, Roman, quietly pu
t his to his ear. Dominic glanced at Salvatore, whose eyes had narrowed. A silent understanding passed between them.
Dominic shifted his attention to me, turning my face to his, his blue-gray eyes looking for a moment like they had behind the death mask he’d worn those first days. But then, they changed, not quite softening, no, not that. Dominic burned too hot for that. They smoldered and burned instead, and in front of all those people and God and Franco Benedetti’s open casket, he kissed me full on the mouth.
Women gasped, and when he abruptly released me, the entire church seemed to hold its breath.
I stood shocked. His gaze challenged me, dared me to make a move while warning me to be still. He glanced at the priest who watched this arrogance, this effrontery, this sin against God and man. Dominic didn’t flinch. Instead, he looked once more over the assembly, satisfied with what he saw, before turning his gaze to the casket. His face betrayed no emotion, nothing, as if he were unaffected. I knew he was not. I knew Dominic felt. He felt deeply. He behaved as though he didn’t give a shit, but inside, he was like a bubbling volcano of emotion, hypersensitive, and so, so well-schooled in hiding it all.
I waited with him, standing beside him until he was ready. I glanced at the old man in the box, feeling nothing myself.
Dominic turned back to me, eyes flat, and ushered me into the aisle so that I stood between him and his uncle. Roman’s face had gone white. He tucked the phone into his pocket. Dominic leaned toward him.
“Urgent call, Uncle?”
Roman stood a few inches shorter than Dominic. His hands fisted as his throat worked, and he swallowed. He didn’t have a chance to reply, though, because the sound of the priest clearing his throat rang out over the loudspeakers, and he began the service. All went silent apart from the man’s booming voice, but I wondered how many in the room actually heard the service at all.
I fully expected to see Victor after the ceremony. Or at the very least, at the cemetery. But he’d left before the service ended. Disappointment mingled with relief as I stood at Dominic’s side while he greeted the mourners, shaking hands, making subtle comments about being back now. Nodding when anyone said anything about Franco Benedetti.
Dominic: a Dark Mafia Romance (Benedetti Brothers Book 2) Page 17