Chapter Twenty-Six
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
DOMINIC
I don’t bother with knocking or the doorknob. I kick the motherfucker open, sending it flying off the hinges. Just like before, two guns immediately aim at my head, but unlike before, I join the party, pulling my Glock and taking my own aim.
Straight between Luciano’s eyes.
“Tell your bitches to get the fuck out.”
“Ay!” Carlo yells, jabbing his gun at me. “Watch your mouth!”
“Dominic.” Luciano nods, leaning back in his chair like I’m not about to blow his head off. “Your manners have gotten worse.”
“My apologies. Tell your bitches to get the fuck out, please .”
He chuckles to himself and waves a hand, his eyes never leaving me. “Go.”
“But boss—”
Only then does Luciano turn around, fixing Carlo with a cold stare. “What part of ‘go’ did you not understand, stronzo ?”
Carlo grits his teeth. “Whatever you say.” This time on his way out, he doesn’t brush my shoulder. He slinks out without another word.
“Now,” Luciano says, and I direct my attention back to where he still hasn’t bothered to pull one of the four guns I know he has stashed in his desk. “What can I do for you?”
Somehow, that pisses me off more. It’s like he thinks I’m not a threat. Like he thinks I wouldn’t have the balls to pull the trigger and watch him bleed out in his own office.
“You can answer two questions.”
“Gluttonous, but I’m listening.”
I don’t bother mincing words. “Are you pulling some backdoor shit with the cops?”
He raises a curious eyebrow. “What kind of a question is that?”
“A point blank one. Just like the shot I’m about to fire if you don’t explain why Detective Javier Rubio is following me around asking questions about Freddy Wiseman.”
“Possibly because the man was found looking like a pile of warm Jell-O at the bottom of suicide bridge.” The sound of glass clinking fills the room as he tips a bottle of Sinatra Select over a glass sitting on his desk. “After stalking you and your heiress, of course. Not to mention taking a very compromising picture.”
Just the mention of that damn picture sets off another firestorm of hatred, and I rush toward him. “If you think I’m going to take the fall for this—”
Luciano smirks as he hovers the glass at his lips. “Oh, relax, Dominic. Your friend, Rubio is pulling shit out of his ass and throwing it against the wall just to see what sticks.” Taking an indulgent drink, he sets it down and hooks me with a critical stare. “If he has anything, it’s because you’ve forgotten how this game is played and fucked up.”
“I haven’t forgotten shit, and I don’t fuck up.”
“Then there’s nothing to worry about, is there?” he says, the words laced with challenge. “Now, I believe you had two burning questions.”
If I wasn’t so pissed, I might enjoy watching Luciano twist the truth into balloon animals. But we’re not on the same side anymore, and I don’t trust him. “I want to know what the hell you thought you were doing showing up at the Romanov mansion.”
He presses his lips in a thin line, watching me carefully as if every twitch and blink is a piece of an invisible puzzle. Finally, that thin line spreads into a smirk. “To verify what I already suspected.”
“And what is that?”
His eyes narrow as he reaches for his precious cigar box. “You’re panicked, Dominic and not for the reason you should be.” Opening the top, he pulls out a Cuban and points it at me. “You’re falling in love with this girl.”
I almost wince. Not because it’s true, but because the idea is too deplorable to even consider. I can’t love anyone. You have to have a heart to love someone.
No, I don’t love Angel. I like her. I want to fuck her. I prefer her alive rather than dead.
But love?
Hell no.
“Don’t be stupid,” I growl. “You know I don’t believe in that shit. Love is weakness. You taught me that.”
He dips his chin before clipping the end off the cigar. “So, I did.”
“Besides, she’d be the last person I’d risk going down that twisted road for.”
“And why is that, precisely? ”
“You know damn well why.” I’m not playing games with him tonight.
He has the audacity to laugh. “Ah yes, because you’re in it for the money. Poor, clueless Angel Smith assumes all the risk while mastermind Dominic walks away with his pockets full and his secrets intact.”
My grip tightens on my gun. He doesn’t get to sit on his throne and pass out judgment like some kind of god when it’s his commandment that created this storm.
“Don’t act like I nailed her to a cross,” I grit through my teeth. “I took her from a starving cocktail waitress to a billion-dollar heiress overnight. She’s hardly suffering.”
Ignoring the gun still pointed at him, he pins me with that unflappable underboss glare. “Mark my words, that woman will get inside your head and fuck around until she brings you to your knees.”
“You don’t know what you’re—”
“Not just to your knees, boy. Our knees. If you want to put a gun to your own head, be my guest, but I’ll be damned if you’ll take the rest of us down with you.”
I bark out a laugh. “And by the rest of us, you mean you.”
Holding his lighter at the end of his cigar, he puffs in silence. “Us is me, boy.”
Maybe. But the reverse is far from true. Me hasn’t been us since I was a seventeen-year-old boy worshipping the ground Luciano Ricci walked on. Hanging on his every word. Accepting it as gospel. Blindly following without question.
What a fool.
“Don’t worry, Luciano. I know how this family works. Leave Angel alone, and I’ll make sure your saintly name stays out of it.”
His mood switches, the American Gangster persona fading away as the cold-blooded killer settles in his place. “It’s not me you have to worry about, boy.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Once the real Alexandra Romanov comes forward, we’re both fucked.”
I size him up, trying to determine his angle. “What the hell are you talking about? Alexandra Romanov is dead.”
Taking one last puff, he pulls the cigar from his lips. “And where is her final resting place, Dominic? Los Angeles?” His lip curls, a razor thin edge to his voice. “Or Phoenix?”