Ricardo #2
Vito cuts through it. “Some of them are useful to us. Some of them owe us. Some of them dislike the Winthrops enough to become useful.”
There. That's what I like.
Power without polish.
Or rather, polish worn thin enough to show the steel.
I look at Vito and see Luca in him again. However, not merely an imitation, and he's not just muscle either. There's a brain in there.
Mario notices too. I can tell by the way his eyes settle on Vito for half a second longer than courtesy requires. Not with challenge. With assessment.
Perhaps with recognition.
He has sons of his own.
He knows what it costs to turn boys into men who can survive in rooms like this.
My anger has been looking for somewhere to land since last night. Harrison’s face. His throat. His expensive bones beneath my hands. But now, for one moment, something steadies it.
Respect.
I do not want to owe Luca Conti anything.
I may not have a choice.
Roberto folds his hands over the file. “Before we discuss Winthrop, we need the facts from last night. The ones that will not be in a police summary cleaned for public consumption. We understand that two people were attacked last night.”
Mario looks to me.
So does everyone else.
The explanation costs more than I expect.
Not because the details are complicated.
Because saying them makes them happen again.
“Yes. My son and Julia O'Brien,” I say.
“That's Harrison Winthrop's ex-fianceé. Correct?” Roberto asks.
“Yes,” I say, holding my anger in check. It wouldn't do to let it out in front of them. “Julia used to be involved with Harrison, and now she isn't. Julia and Dante returned to her apartment after the gala, and two men were waiting inside.”
“What happened to those men?” Vito asks.
“Dead,” I say.
His eyebrow quirks, and he looks almost amused.
“And how do you know it's Harrison who did this?” Roberto asks. “Just because they used to be involved?”
“There were white roses in the entrance hall, placed where she would see them when she walked in.”
Roberto stays silent.
“White roses meant Harrison,” I continue. “He used to buy them for her after he would hurt her.”
Vito's expression loses all amusement.
Roberto’s jaw tightens once, almost imperceptibly. “Did he now?” he says softly.
I keep going.
“Dante saw something was wrong before Julia did. He put her behind the kitchen counter. The men opened fire. One shot hit him in the abdomen.”
Adrian, silent until now, speaks up. “They came to kill her?”
“I don’t think so, no,” I say. “We believe they came to take her.”
His eyes grow cold. “Equipment?”
“Julia did not see enough to know,” I say. “Police have the apartment. Our people are working around that.”
Mario looks toward Matteo.
Matteo answers. “We have exterior building footage, partial lobby access, and the service corridor from the neighboring property. Her building system is officially locked down, but we have one maintenance feed they missed.”
Adrian’s attention fixes on him with cool approval. “Send it to me.”
Matteo looks to Mario.
Mario nods.
Matteo takes out his phone.
Adrian continues. “If they came to take her, they had transport. Second vehicle, nearby driver, route out. They would not park directly at the building unless they were amateurs.”
“They were not amateurs,” I say.
“No,” Adrian agrees. “Then there may be more outside the apartment than inside it.”
Something in his tone tells me he is already building the route in his head. Entrance. Exit. Timing. Containment. Failure point.
Dante was the failure point.
My son became the wall they did not expect.
Pride and terror move through me together, impossible to separate.
Roberto turns a page in the file. “Has Harrison contacted Julia since the attack?”
“No.”
“Her parents?”
“Unknown.”
Mario says, “Her phone is still unaccounted for. Likely with police or in the apartment.”
Roberto looks displeased. “Find it before the police decide it is evidence someone else deserves to interpret.”
“I have people on it,” Lorenzo says.
Roberto’s gaze moves to him. “We can help.”
Lorenzo’s face remains pleasant. “I am sure we can share.”
Diego murmurs, “Family already.”
Roberto glances at him, smiling now. “Careful. I bill by the hour.”
Diego’s eyebrows lift. “For relatives?”
“Especially for relatives.”
The exchange would almost be amusing in any other room, on any other day, with my son anywhere but a hospital bed.
Vito does not smile.
Neither do I.
His eyes settle on me again. “You want Harrison.”
“Yes.”
“You want him dead?”
Mario turns his head toward me.
Vito ignores the movement and waits for my answer.
I could lie.
There would be no point.
“Eventually.”
A slow, terrifying smile moves across Vito's face.
For the first time, I see the man inside. And for one second, I feel the sheer terror of being the man that smile is meant for.
“I think that can be arranged,” Vito says.
“But not right away,” Roberto says. “For the moment, I strongly suggest you do not touch him.”
I'm getting really sick of people telling me that.
Roberto continues. “Harrison Winthrop is protected by a family apparatus designed to absorb scandal, redirect blame, and punish anyone who threatens the name. If he vanishes, bleeds, or dies in a way that points toward you, the Winthrops will not need proof. All they will need is a narrative. Organized crime pursuing a political family over a woman’s accusation gives them one. ”
My hands curl beneath the table.
“So we do not give them that,” Roberto says. “We give them something they cannot survive so easily or quietly.”
Lorenzo leans forward. “Such as?”
Roberto taps the folder once. “Pattern.”
I have a feeling it's not as simple as that.