Chapter 12 #2
“I did.” Vicente’s voice carried old pain, carefully hidden but never quite healed.
“Thomas had integrity. In my world, this is rare. Precious. I offered him protection—a new name, a new life, resources to raise his child safely. He refused. Said he couldn’t live with himself if he stayed silent while people were hurt by the corruption.
I told him it was too big, but I would not stand in his way. ”
“You didn’t try to stop him?” I asked. “I mean, you said you, ah… had interests… in the project.”
I stumbled over my words, searching for the least offensive.
Vicente’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “I was careful, see? It would not have ended my operations.”
“But it would’ve been detrimental for others?”
“Many others,” he nodded. His accent thickened as memories darkened his eyes. “I warned him—told him those involved would harm him if he revealed his secrets.”
“You mean the pregnancy too?” I asked.
Vicente gestured to my stomach. “You understand now, the vulnerability of carrying life. Thomas was omega, unmarried, pregnant with a child whose father…” He paused delicately.
“Well, even in 1973, this meant scandal, disgrace, destroyed futures. Depending on who the pater was, many people had reasons to want Thomas silenced.”
“But you didn’t,” I pressed.
“No. I was not the pater. I did offer him protection.” His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. “But Thomas chose honesty over safety. And someone—” He spread his hands. “—someone chose to silence him permanently.”
“Who?” Penny asked, speaking for the first time since we’d sat down.
Vicente regarded us both thoughtfully. “I have suspicions. Nothing I could prove, even if I were a man who went to courts.” His smile was dry. “But I suggest you look at who had the most to lose from scandal. Who would have been destroyed by Thomas’s revelations.”
“Richard’s family,” I said.
“Henry Fairfax was spietato, ruthless in protecting the family name and fortune.” Vicente paused.
“And Richard himself?” I asked.
Vicente’s expression held pity and contempt in equal measure. “Richard was weak. If he loved Thomas, it was not enough to fight for him. Not enough to stand against his father.”
Bitterness edged his voice. “If Richard was the pater, then he chose the safe path. The acceptable path. And Thomas died because of it. Whether Richard’s hands held the blade or not, his weakness killed Thomas just as surely.”
“Do you think Richard was the baby’s father?” I asked quietly.
“I suspect, but I do not know.” Vicente’s shrug was elegant, continental. “Thomas never said, and I never asked. It was his secret to keep. But the timing…” He trailed off meaningfully.
My phone buzzed. A text from Dominic:
Where are you?
Oh dear. We were were supposed to meet him twenty minutes ago.
Guilt hit immediately. We’d gotten so caught up in conversation that I’d completely lost track of time.
Vicente noticed my expression. “Your alpha grows anxious, sì? Your bambino’s pater is Dominic Steele, yes?”
“You know Dominic?”
“I know of him.” The warmth in Vicente’s voice cooled noticeably. His smile stayed in place, but his eyes hardened.
“He and Blake Harrington, they interfered with some business interests of mine. Cost me considerably.” Vicente’s tone remained pleasant, but the edge was unmistakable. “Very clever, very ruthless and smart. I respect this, even as I resent it.”
His gaze locked with mine. “Your Dominic is formidable. I imagine he would be very anxious about you being here, speaking with a man he has made into an enemy.”
There was a reminder in those words. Vicente hadn’t forgotten. He was capable of holding grudges. Ice slid down my spine.
“We should go,” I said, standing carefully. “Thank you for speaking with us, Mr. Antonelli.”
“It was my pleasure.” Vicente stood as well, old-world manners intact.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card—elegant, simple, just a name and phone number embossed in gold.
“If someone threatens you or your child, call me. I cannot help Thomas now—that time has passed. But I can help you.”
I took the card with trembling fingers. “Thank you.”
“Your grandfather was a good man. And his skill as a calzolaio rivaled Salvatore Ferragamo. You honor his memory, yes.” Vicente’s expression softened. “Thomas would have liked you, I think. You have his integrity, his courage.”
He paused. “His foolishness in pursuing truth over safety.”
It sounded like both a compliment and a warning.
I didn’t fully relax until Penny and I were outside of Bella Vista in the winter cold.
“That was terrifying,” Penny said, grabbing my arm. “He was nice and terrifying at the same time and I don’t understand how both things can be true.”
“He said he cared about Thomas,” I said, still processing.
“He also casually admitted to fifty-year-old mob crimes while complimenting my hair.” Penny’s voice rose. “And did you catch that dig at Dominic and Blake? He’s definitely still pissed about losing all that money.”
My phone rang again. Dominic’s name flashed on the screen.
“Hi,” I said weakly.
“Where are you?” Dominic’s voice was deceptively calm, which was somehow worse than yelling. “You were supposed to meet me at the boutique thirty minutes ago.”
“Since Marcus couldn’t make it, I thought we had time to grab lunch while waiting for you,” I said, then lowered my voice to a whisper. “At Bella Vista.”
Silence. Then: “Bella Vista. Vicente Antonelli’s restaurant.”
“The baby wanted puttanesca—”
“Leo.” Just my name, but it carried so much frustrated concern. “We agreed that we’d step back. And less than thirty-six hours later, you’re having lunch at a mobster’s restaurant?”
“We didn’t plan to talk to him,” I defended. “But he was there, and I thought—”
“You thought you’d approach him anyway,” Dominic finished. “Did you at least learn something useful before putting yourself and our baby in danger?”
Beside me, Penny had pulled out his phone and was frantically texting someone—probably Jake, updating him on our near-death experience.
“He didn’t kill Thomas,” I said. “He cared about him. Offered him protection—a new life. But Thomas refused because he couldn’t stay silent about the corruption.
” I took a breath. “I think Vicente believes Richard Fairfax sired Thomas’ baby.
He seemed bitter that Richard wasn’t strong enough to fight for Thomas. And then he gave me his card.”
“He gave you his—” Dominic made a sound between a laugh and a groan. “You got a mob boss’s personal phone number. Do you understand how insane that is?”
“He said if anyone threatens me or the baby, to call him,” I said.
Dominic was quiet for a long moment. “Where are you now?”
“Outside Bella Vista.”
“Stay there. I’m coming to get you.” His tone shifted to that alpha authority that made my stomach flutter. “We’re having a very long conversation tonight about appropriate risk assessment.”
“Dominic—”
“Stay. There.” He hung up.
I looked at Penny, who was staring at me with wide eyes. “He’s coming to pick us up.”
“Dominic is going to kill us,” Penny said flatly.
“Probably.”
“If we’re lucky, he’ll kill us before the actual mobsters decides to,” Penny muttered. “Come on. Let’s wait at that bench so he can find us easily. The faster we get into his protective custody, the better our chances of survival.”
Despite everything—the absolute insanity of what we’d just done—I found myself smiling slightly. “It wasn’t that bad.”
“You interviewed a mob boss who casually admitted to multiple crimes and is still mad at your alpha for costing him millions. Over pasta.” Penny’s voice rose. “That is the definition of ‘that bad.’”
“But we learned things,” I pointed out. “I believe him. I believe he didn’t kill Thomas. And he thinks it was someone who had the most to lose from scandal.”
“Great. So now we just have to figure out which wealthy, powerful person with fifty years of practice covering up murder decided Thomas was too dangerous to live.” Penny pulled his coat tighter against the cold. “This is fine. Everything is fine.”
“Penny—”
“I’m being sarcastic. This is not fine. This is the opposite of fine.”
We’d barely got seated before Dominic’s silver Aston Martin pulled up in front of the bench. He parked and got out, his expression carefully neutral in that way that meant he was absolutely furious but trying to control it.
“Get in,” he said, his voice clipped.
Penny scrambled for the back seat. I moved toward the passenger side, but Dominic’s hand caught my arm gently.
“Are you hurt?” His alpha scent spiked with protective concern despite his obvious anger. “Did he threaten you?”
“No and no,” I said softly. “I told you, he was actually… nice. In a terrifying kind of way.”
Dominic’s jaw clenched. “We’re discussing this at the shop. Get in.”
“But I don’t need to open—“
He yanked the passenger side door open. “Penny, I’ll drop you off at Blake’s.”
Penny slumped into the back seat with a barely audible “yes, sir” as I slid into the car. Dominic shut the door with careful control before rounding to the driver’s side. Once we were all buckled in, he pulled into the busy evening traffic in tense silence.
“For what it’s worth,” Penny offered from the back seat, “Vicente complimented my hair and said Leo’s grandfather’s shoes rivaled Salvatore Ferragamo’s. So that was nice.”
“Penny,” I warned.
“Just trying to find the positive side to our brush with organized crime,” Penny said. “You know, to soften the blow of the impending lecture.”
Dominic’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. “You both approached Vicente Antonelli on his turf. The man whose business Blake and I destroyed. He has every reason to hold a grudge against me and my omega approached him without backup, without telling anyone where you were going.”
“When you put it that way, it sounds bad,” Penny muttered.
“Because it IS bad,” Dominic said, his voice rising slightly before he caught himself and took a breath. “What were you thinking? Were either of you thinking?”
“I was thinking that Vicente knew Thomas. That he might have information.” I turned to look at Dominic’s profile. “And I was right. He did.”
“And if he were guilty—if he’d decided you were too dangerous? Too much of a threat? What then?”
“We were in a public restaurant surrounded by witnesses—”
“Vicente Antonelli has allegedly killed people in ways that look like accidents for forty years,” Dominic interrupted. “Public spaces don’t protect you from someone with that much experience making problems disappear.”
The car fell silent except for the sound of traffic. Guilt twisted in my chest.
From the back seat, Penny cleared his throat. “Technically, it’s the baby’s fault. He or she wanted puttanesca.”
Despite everything, Dominic’s mouth quirked slightly. “The baby wanted puttanesca from a mob boss’s restaurant?”
“The baby has expensive taste,” I said.
“The baby has dangerous taste,” Dominic corrected, but his death grip on the steering wheel gentled. “Was the puttanesca at least good?”
“It was perfect,” I admitted. “Exactly what I was craving.”
“Of course it was.” Dominic shook his head, some of the tension finally easing from his shoulders. “Only you would bond with a mobster over Italian food and artisan footwear.”
“I do think really did care for Thomas,” I said softly. “He might’ve even been in love with him.”
“And he gave you his personal number in case anyone threatens you,” Dominic said. “Which is simultaneously terrifying and… oddly touching.”
“Right?” Penny leaned forward. “That’s exactly what I said! Terrifying and nice at the same time!”