Chapter 11
DOMINIC
Gia fell asleep sometime in the next hour, leaving me in blessed silence as I drove toward Salvatore’s house.
My house.
All my thoughts led to the same place: I needed to figure out the extent of Roman’s involvement, and he was involved. Everything in my gut told me so. Every instinct told me he and Victor were partners in this secret endeavor, at least to some degree.
But I needed to remember he was my mother’s brother.
He’d loved her. Franco trusted him. Sergio had too.
Salvatore didn’t trust anyone, and it sounded like the last seven years had only put distance between him and the Benedetti family.
Me? Roman and I had a strange relationship.
He’d known all along who I was—and who I was not.
He’d been decent to me, to some extent. Roman was always good to Roman first, though.
But hell, same could be said of any of us. Except maybe Salvatore.
Roman had helped to organize the buying of Salvatore’s house, helped me sell off the cars and much of the furniture.
He’d made sure the house was maintained, even though no one lived there.
Why? Why would he help me after that night, when I was out, finished?
When I was no longer a threat? One more Benedetti son out of the picture.
Why not, though? Why raise my suspicions by denying me help? And couldn’t he then keep better track of me? Keep me in my place, which was far from his.
I thought back to those years and wondered if he’d been a friend to any of us, really. Or did he manage each of us, his eyes on the prize all along—becoming head of the Benedetti crime family.
No, that seemed too far-fetched. Too impossible.
But maybe it wasn’t. To be so close to the kind of power Franco Benedetti wielded and sit impotent at his side for so many years? I knew how that felt. I knew what it made of me.
Power corrupted. And Roman was corrupt. I’d bet my fucking life on it.
I slowed as I drove the final mile toward the mansion. Night had fallen, and a crescent moon illuminated a thousand stars in the clear night. Gia stirred beside me.
“Are we there?”
“Yes.”
She rubbed her eyes and leaned forward to get a better look as we got close enough for the lights of the SUV to shine on the gates protecting the property.
I slowed the vehicle, and she took it all in.
The last few miles I’d been tense. Now, that tension had reached a new level. I hadn’t been back since that night. I hadn’t been in the dining room since the shooting, and I was about to face it all now.
“Stay inside,” I told her, climbing out to punch in the code. I watched the gates slide open. The single change I’d made to the property after buying it was to have all the locks changed and a keyless entry system put in.
Once the gates opened, I drove the SUV through, then stopped again to watch them close behind us. I’d change the code tomorrow. Roman also knew it. I hadn’t thought twice about him having it, not back then.
Gia sat awestruck at what she saw as we drove the long drive toward the front door.
“What is this?”
“My house,” I said, realizing it was. I’d taken over Salvatore’s home, kept some of his furniture. And he didn’t even know it.
I didn’t bother trying to figure out my own twisted motivation.
“Your house?”
“Mercenary life pays.”
“Can’t pay this much.”
I parked the car. Gia climbed out. I walked ahead to the front door and punched in the code.
The number combination registered, and a click signaled the unlocking of the door.
I pushed it open, memory of that last night flooding all of my senses as I stood on the threshold, gripping the doorknob to remain upright as the wave crashed over me, then, slowly, way too slowly, passed.
I swallowed hard and reached a shaky hand to switch on the lights.
The hallway illuminated immediately, and I moved aside to allow Gia to enter.
“Wow.”
It was all she said while she turned around in a circle, her gaze up on the vaulted, frescoed ceiling. Salvatore had tacky taste if you asked me, but watching her take it in, to see her in awe, made me strangely, stupidly proud.
I cleared my throat and pushed the door closed, hearing the lock engage when I did. I moved swiftly through the house, turning on lights as I went, seeing the layers of dust covering the sheets protecting the remaining furniture.
“It’ll need to be cleaned,” I said, trying to avoid looking at the closed door that led into the dining room.
Trying not to think of that night. Of what I’d find there.
That was the one room I hadn’t allowed to be cleaned.
I wondered now how it would look—glasses left on the table now filled with dust, the whiskey having long since evaporated.
Would the blood have seeped into the obnoxious marble floors?
Splattered and stained the walls with permanent reminders?
Would it take me back in time to that night, that terrible night, when I’d learned the truth and lost everything in the process?
“This room is off-limits,” I told Gia, gesturing to the closed dining-room door.
She shifted her weight onto one leg and narrowed her eyes. She looked like she was about to say something smart, but then her expression changed, like she knew this was serious. Like she knew not to fuck with me on this. She nodded.
I walked over to the liquor cabinet and found a bottle of unopened whiskey. I took it and found a glass. She followed me into the kitchen, where I turned on the gurgling tap and waited until the water ran clear before rinsing the glass. I filled it halfway with the liquor. I held it out to her.
She hesitated but then took it and sipped, squeezing her eyes shut. I guessed it scorched the back of her throat. She then handed it back. I drank a long swallow and refilled the glass, appreciating the burn. Salvatore had good taste.
“Can I have a proper shower?”
I nodded and finished the glass, then led the way upstairs to Lucia’s old room.
“Who’s room was this?” she asked, eyeing the abandoned makeup, the lipstick on the vanity with its lid off, the discarded pair of shoes lying beside the bed.
“My brother’s wife’s room.”
She looked at me, confused.
“It was my brother’s house. He left it seven years ago. I took it over.”
She searched my face, my eyes. Had she heard the story of the Benedetti brothers?
Of how the one almost killed the other? No one knew what transpired that night, at least as far as the why of it.
No one knew the secret Franco had told. No one but those who were here.
As far as the mafia world was concerned, Dominic Benedetti was alive and well and had left after a family argument.
“Bathroom’s in there. You’ll have to deal with the dust. I need to make a call. Do I need to lock you in the bedroom, or will you stay put?”
“Lock me in?” She rested her hands on her hips, and her eyebrows rose high on her forehead.
I nodded. I didn’t have time to deal with her right now. I needed to make a call. I needed to find out where Roman stood.
“I’ll stay,” she said, her tone irritated. “And I want this off,” she pointed to the collar.
“Maybe we need to revisit some things.” I went to her, took her by the collar, and walked her backward until her back hit the wall. She pressed against my chest, but I pulled upward, forcing her chin up. Her eyes went wide, angry but also fearful, like they’d looked in the cabin.
“You’re still mine, you’re still owned. When I took you out of the cabin, I stole you from Victor Scava. I did not release you. You do not give orders. You obey them. Understand?”
I felt her throat work as she swallowed. Her lips tightened, and her little hands fisted at my chest.
“I asked you if you understood.”
“Yes,” she bit out.
I gave her a grin. “Good.” I released her.
She took a full breath of air and stood against the wall as I left.
I didn’t lock the door behind me. I went downstairs to Salvatore’s study.
My study. There, I switched on the light and dragged the sheets off the chair and desk and sat down.
Using my cell phone, I scrolled down to Roman’s number and hit Send.
He answered on the second ring. “Dominic?”
“It’s been a while, Uncle.”
He exhaled deeply. “Yes, it has.”
I hadn’t seen him in almost seven years, and his voice told me Salvatore was right. He’d hardened in that time.
“I heard about the body,” I said, getting right to business.
Silence, then, “And you want to know if I ordered Mateo Castellano’s killing.”
“I am curious why you’d mark him for everyone and their fucking grandmother to know it was you.” I played dumb. Even if Salvatore had spoken with him after our call—which I doubted—he wouldn’t betray me.
“I have enemies, Dominic. You know how it is for us. And snitches aren’t tolerated. Period.” He sounded stern, unmoved, like a real head of the family.
But he still didn’t answer my question.
“He’d done work for us in the past. His father was a friend to Franco.”
“Business is business. Where are you, Dominic?”
“West.” I wasn’t giving him anything. The more I thought about it, the guiltier Roman became.
“Do you need money? I can send you something. Franco won’t know.”
My lip twitched at his charity. His giving away the Benedetti money like it was his.
“No, Uncle. I don’t need money.” I could hear the hostility in my tone. Surely he could too.
Silence. “You’re well, then? Do you want me to do anything with the house? Will you be coming back?”
“No. I just grew curious when I heard about the murder, the brand. It didn’t seem like you.”
“The body shouldn’t have been found,” he said flatly.
Again, not taking responsibility, although not quite denying it either.
“But it was left where it could be. Seems like quite the oversight.”
“I need to meet with Franco, Dominic. Good to hear from you.”