Chapter 43
DANTE
“Dante!”
Gina jumps up from the sofa the moment I enter the apartment, her face bright, eyes shining.
“You’ll never guess,” she says, breathless. “I just got word. I’m one of five finalists in the Academy competition.”
For a second, I let myself absorb the sight of her like this—alive, excited, untouched.
“Congratulations,” I say, stepping forward and kissing her forehead.
She searches my face. “You’re upset,” she says.
Nothing escapes her.
“Come here,” I say quietly, taking her hand and guiding her back to the sofa.
She sits slowly. Her smile fades. “What is it?”
I don’t ease into it. “Thomas is dead.”
Her breath catches. “From his thigh injury?”
“No.” I hold her gaze. “I ordered him killed.”
She stares at me as if I’ve struck her. “Why?” she whispers.
“He was part of the ambush. Working with the enemy.”
Her fingers tighten around mine. She swallows hard. She’s quiet for a long time. “He seemed loyal,” she finally says.
“He was,” I answer. “Until someone offered him more.”
“More?”
“More money. More power. Greed has no bounds.”
“Will this ever end?” she asks. “Do I have to look over my shoulder every time I leave the apartment?”
“For now,” I say. “Yes.”
She studies me carefully. “So what Angie said at the museum party was true.”
“What did she say?”
“That you had declared war on the old ways. That men like Silvio wouldn’t accept it quietly.”
I don’t answer immediately. “Some men believe fear is the only language that works.”
“And you don’t?”
“I believe control is stronger when it doesn’t rely on chaos.”
Her eyes search mine. “So this is about power.”
“It’s always about power,” I agree. “The question is how you choose to hold it.”
She thinks again for a long moment. “And which are you choosing?” she asks quietly.
“The future.”
Just then, Ciro enters the apartment with Biscotti by his side. He bends to remove his leash, and Gina’s puppy rushes over to greet us.
This time, though, he stops to see me first. I scoop him up and scratch him behind his ears.
“At least Biscotti knows who’s boss,” I tease.
“He’s just playing favorites because you bought him those furry friends,” Gina says.
“True enough.” I put the dog down. “I have to catch up on some work, but congratulations again.”
“Will you escort me to the awards ceremony?” she asks, giving me the date.
That’s a couple weeks from now, and I check my calendar. “I’ll likely have a call, but I suppose I could take it outside. I wouldn’t want to miss my wife winning first prize.”
“It’s not a sure thing yet,” she says, narrowing her eyes. “Unless you made a bribe.”
“No bribe needed. You’ll win.”
“How do you know? Are you psychic?”
“Any woman who makes her husband sit through five dinners in Little Italy just so she can sketch the nose belonging to an Italian chef deserves to win.”
“It wasn’t just the nose I was sketching.”
She scoots over to sit on my lap, kissing my neck as she looks up at me. “So what happens if I don’t win?”
“You’ll be punished. Severely.”
“Okay, then what happens if I do win?”
“The same thing.”
We laugh.
“Oh, Dante,” she says, “I love you so much.”
When Gina kisses my lips, my cock gets hard, despite all the emotional weight on my shoulders.
What would my father say if he knew I was planning war with his brother? What would Salvatore say?
Both men are dead, but I’m of the belief that the dead can observe the living.
I’m sure both believe I’m on the right path, the path of the future.
Salvatore in his day had no choice but to use bootlegging as a way of achieving the so-called American dream. Thankfully our family is moving toward the future Salvatore always envisioned.
And he’d be the first to agree that Silvio is wrong.
Silvio must be neutralized.