Chapter 4
Dominic
Ishovel another forkful of pasta into my mouth while Dante taps the tip of his finger on the tabletop and assesses me.
“Why the sudden change of heart?” My gaze flickers to him as I lift one shoulder, and the flippant response has his eyes narrowing.
“I’m going to need more than that. Rumour has it you’ve taken leave from Crimson Lounge. ”
He owns the club, so it’s not surprising he’s privy to that information.
I blow out a breath as I drop my fork on the plate and sit back in my seat. My business is exactly that … mine, but I know I’m going to have to give him something. The hours and money this new gig can bring will make it easier if I get custody of Peach, so I’m not about to blow this.
“I’m thinking of quitting.”
“The club?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?” he asks as he arches an eyebrow.
“Family problems,” I admit, but that’s all he’s going to get.
“What kind of family problems?”
“Just stuff.”
“With your woman?” he probes.
“I don’t have one.”
“Kids?”
“None.”
“Parents?”
“Nope.” I shrug nonchalantly.
I hear Romeo snicker beside me when a low growl rumbles in the back of Dante’s throat.
“I get you’re not a man of many words, Dominic, but if you want to be a part of the Famiglia, you’re going to have to learn to trust us, just as we will learn to trust you in return.”
I roll my shoulders, trying to ease the tension. “My sister.”
“Was that so hard?” Dante asks, sarcasm dripping from his voice.
Actually, it was, but I don’t voice that out loud. Instead, I pick up my fork and continue eating my lunch.
Thankfully, he and Romeo do the same. I haven’t eaten this well in a long time, so it would be a shame if this interrogation ruined my appetite by giving me indigestion. The food here is delicious.
Just when I begin to relax, thinking the probing has stopped, Dante opens his fucking gob again. “So, your sister …”
“What about her?” I ask around a mouthful of pasta. It wouldn’t surprise me if he’d done his research on me before coming here, and I’m not sure how I’m going to explain that clusterfuck if he has.
He studies me the way a man studies a loaded gun, cautious and curious. “You taking care of her?”
In a roundabout way. “That’s the plan.”
Romeo hums under his breath, cutting into his steak with unnecessary force. “You don’t seem like the nurturing type.”
I don’t reply to his comment; I keep chewing, swallowing, and ignoring both sets of eyes that are now pinned on me.
“Is she in trouble?” Dante presses.
“She’s family,” I say simply. It’s both an answer and a refusal to give him anything more.
The table goes quiet. The only sound is the scrape of cutlery and the low hum of conversation from the other side of the restaurant.
I’m not purposely trying to be obtuse. He is the Don and commands loyalty and respect. He’ll always get that from me, but what I do in my downtime is my own fucking business.
Dante finally nods, like he’s decided to let it go. “Family’s family. Just remember where your loyalties lie.”
I meet his gaze. “I won’t forget.”
“Good. Then eat. You’re going to need the strength.”
I force another forkful of pasta into my mouth, even though the taste has gone flat. His words have my stomach twisting, but I keep eating anyway. I may not want this job, but I need it.
Pushing shit aside is what I do best, because if I stop long enough to think about it all—Lil’ Peach, my sister, and the mess waiting for me outside this restaurant—I might not start moving again.
The vibration of the phone lying facedown on the table cuts through the silence. Dante picks it up and glances at the screen, his expression shifts, barely, but enough to make Romeo lean over. A message glows between them, and whatever it says alters the air in the room.
Dante exhales through his nose, slides the phone into his pocket, and stands. Romeo’s chair scrapes against the floor as he does the same, signalling that this meeting is over.
“I’ll have you over the house later this week to do the initiation,” Dante says, rebuttoning his suit jacket with a precision that feels rehearsed.
I look up from my plate with my brows pinched. “Initiation?”
“The blood oath,” is his only reply. His tone is calm, almost casual, like he’s mentioning a change in the weather.
He starts to move, his black, polished dress shoes barely making a sound against the floor. When he passes behind me, his hand lands briefly on my shoulder, a gesture that’s supposed to feel reassuring, but instead, sends a chill crawling down my spine.
“Stay and finish your lunch,” he says. “I’ll be in touch.” And then he’s gone.
For a long moment, I sit and stare at the half-eaten meal in front of me. The sound of laughter and clinking glasses drifts from another table, but it feels far away.
I place down my cutlery and scrub a hand across my face as the weight of it all settles in my chest.
The blood oath. I’ve heard about it. The ceremony that binds a man to the Cosa Nostra for life.
A drop of blood, a prayer to their saints, a promise sealed in fire, and loyalty.
Once you take it, you don’t just join them, you belong to them.
There’s no backing out, no second thoughts, no walking away. The only way out is in an unmarked box.
What in the fuck have I gotten myself into?
I’m pulled from my thoughts when Emily, the waitress, approaches the table. She gives me that kind of look people reserve for stray dogs. It’s sympathetic and a little unsure.
“Are you okay?” she asks, surprising me with her question.
I’m so taken aback by her concern that I can only grunt in response. This woman is too good for this fucked-up world, and again, I’m left wondering who left that bruise on her wrist. If I’m honest, the thought of someone hurting her makes me murderous, and I don’t even know why.
Unperturbed by my rudeness, she glances around the table at the half-eaten spread in front of me. “Would you like me to box up the leftovers?”
When I nod, she gives me a small smile and starts gathering plates. I lean back, letting her move around me, my mind returning to the blood oath that’s supposed to make me family.
Family.
The word tastes bitter. My real one fell apart before I even understood what it meant.
So when Dante talks about the Famiglia like it’s something holy, something worth bleeding for, I can’t help but wonder if this family will be any different from my real one, or if I’m trading one kind of fucked-up loyalty for another.
I contemplate getting up and leaving before the waitress returns, but something is keeping me rooted to my chair. Maybe I need one more of her smiles. Something soft and sweet that doesn’t come with strings or expectations.
It’s pathetic, really, how starved I am for something that simple, a look that asks for nothing in return.
Her quiet goodness reminds me that not everyone in this world takes, and that some things don’t come with a price.
So I wait, pretending it’s for the leftovers, when the reality is I’m just wanting to feel human for a second.
The car door slams behind me, and I drag the baby pram out onto the curb. I’ve watched the girl at the store demonstrate this a hundred times in my head, folding, snapping, and locking it into place. She made it look so easy, but reality seems to have other plans for me today.
“Cunt,” I curse under my breath as the metal joint refuses to click into place. “Get in there, you motherfucker.”
I twist, push, and fucking pull, trying every angle I can think of, and the damn thing still won’t cooperate. I’m five seconds away from launching this damn contraption across the parking lot. My hands are scraped, my patience threadbare, and I feel like a damn idiot.
A mother with her young child walks past, glancing at me with a mix of sympathy and judgment, but I ignore her and take a deep breath.
After a few more frustrated tugs, the pram finally clicks into place.
I stand back, with my hands on my hips, trying to act like I meant to do that all along, but I’m already dubious about collapsing it back down when we return to the car.
Thankfully, I drive an SUV, so I’ll leave the fucking thing up if it comes to that.
I start moving across the car park, and feel like a dick pushing an empty pram, but I can’t help the small grin tugging at the corners of my lips. I’ve been granted temporary custody of Lil’ Peach. Just the thought makes my chest tighten like I’ve won some kind of impossible lottery.
With Mary’s help, I finally got to where I needed to be. My niece is mine, for the time being anyway, and I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure it stays that way. They will take her back over my cold, dead fucking body.
The poor little thing has been in the hospital for weeks, but today, it’s time to take her home.
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t apprehensive about being solely responsible for the wellbeing of a tiny human, but the alternative is far more dire.
As far as I know, my sister hasn’t returned to the hospital or enquired about her daughter’s fate, and I can’t even wrap my head around that. How someone could bring a child into this world and walk away is beyond me.
Maybe it’s the drugs, or she just stopped caring somewhere along the way. Maybe she’s more like my damn father than I care to admit, but none of that matters now, Lil’ Peach is better off without her. Chaos and disappointment are all my sister is capable of, thanks to her addiction.
The nurse hands me the discharge papers with a polite but tired smile. She talks about follow-up appointments and how babies need consistency and calm. I nod along, pretending I’ve got a clue. The truth is, I’m quietly terrified about going it alone.
I look down at Peach’s tiny face. I’ve dressed her in the little pink jumpsuit I bought for her to wear home, and she looks impossibly sweet. The matching headband has a large, soft bow that flops forward onto her forehead, making her look even smaller than she already is.
“Should I write all this down?” I ask, leaning over the pram and adjusting the headband like I know what I’m doing.
“It’s all here in the paperwork, Mr Rizzo,” the nurse replies.
Mary breathes out a soft laugh when my eyebrows pinch together. “You’ll figure it out, Dominic,” she says with certainty.
I wish I had her confidence. I thought I was ready for this, but now that the time’s actually here, I feel completely out of my depth.
My hands feel too big, too rough for a world this fragile.
Part of me keeps waiting for someone to rush in and tell me it’s all been a mistake, and I don’t have what it takes, that love and desperation don’t count as qualifications for raising a child.
But no one comes.
When it’s finally time to leave, Mary walks quietly beside me towards the car. Everything suddenly feels heavier, more real. Once I drive away, that’s it. It’ll be just the two of us from here on out.
“You’re going to be fine,” Mary reassures me as I carefully lift Lil’ Peach out of the pram and strap her into the car seat.
I double-check that the tiny straps are clicked into place and that Peach is fastened safely before stepping back, closing the door, and wheeling the pram around to the back of the car.
I can only hope this thing doesn’t give me the same grief it did when I got here.
The last thing I need is Mary second-guessing her decision because I can’t figure out how to collapse a fucking pram without losing my cool.
“You have my number.”
“Yeah.”
“Don’t hesitate to call if you have any questions.”
I nod. I’ll only call her if it’s absolutely necessary. No need to hand her any more reasons to doubt me.
Minutes later, I exhale slowly as I roll out of the hospital car park and into traffic. I’m driving like an old man, white-knuckling the wheel with Peach in the back. Every bump feels like a threat.
A car behind me honks as I take the corner too slowly. I glance in the mirror and see Peach still fast asleep. When my eyes flicker to the cocksucker behind me, my jaw clenches and my fingers dig tighter into the steering wheel, but I force the anger down.
“You’re lucky I’ve got a baby on board, fucker,” I mutter under my breath. “For that reason alone, you get to live another day.”