25. Chapter Twenty Five #2
“Angelo went to prison because of the choices he made,” I continue. “Marcello knows that. But he believes that if it weren't for me, he would have had enough influence to keep him out or, at the very least, protect him while he was inside.”
“What do you mean?” Edoardo asked quietly. “Protect him while he was inside?”
I look toward the fire.
This is the part I have thought about more than I should since learning Marcello was behind Rachel.
Because this is where the argument inside my head becomes fuzzy.
Angelo belonged behind bars.
I believe that.
I believed it then.
I believe it now.
What happened afterward is different.
“He was killed in prison,” I say.
Tomasso curses under his breath.
“By who?” Dante asks.
“A rival of his father’s,” Mario responds.
That is what Marcello has never forgiven.
When he still had influence, he could make sure people knew the consequences of touching Angelo while he was inside.
He could arrange favors, transfers, protection. He could buy other prisoners, guards, hell, the warden.
Whatever was needed.
But by the time Angelo went to prison, all of that was gone.
Angelo was attacked inside.
By the time anyone intervened, he was dead.
Diego walks closer.
“Lorenzo.”
I know what he is going to say before he says it.
“What happened to Angelo was not your fault.”
I keep looking into the fire.
“You took down a business,” he continues. “You did what we came here to do.”
“I know.”
“Angelo committed the crimes that sent him to prison.”
“I know.”
“And someone else killed him.”
“I know that too.”
“Then stop taking responsibility for the choices of others,” he says, voice hard.
I say nothing.
There is no point arguing.
He is right.
Legally. Logically. Probably morally too.
I did not force Angelo to commit crimes. I did not prosecute him. I did not send him to prison. I did not kill him.
But I did take away Marcello’s ability to protect his son.
I think of my own sons, and how it felt, however briefly, to be unable to protect them.
Mario watches me from behind his desk.
“Marcello does not care about the distinction.”
“No. In Marcello's eyes, I arrived, took Lakeview, his money, his influence, everything that allowed him to protect his son. Therefore I killed Angelo.”
The logic is twisted, but grief does not need logic.
I look toward Alessio.
“He didn't choose you because you were a convenient target. Maybe between my two sons, you were the more convenient,” I say. “But he wanted me to feel what he felt. He wanted me to watch you go through what Angelo went through. Arrest. Trial. Prison.”
Edoardo takes one step closer to Alessio.
“And then?” he asks angrily.
“Then he planned to have you killed.”
Around the room, I witness several different reactions to my words.
Edoardo’s face hardens beside him. Matteo swears under his breath. Tomasso looks like he wants to put his fist through something.
Mario is the only one who does not move.
Ricardo leans forward, forearms braced on his knees.
But Alessio's expression remains very still. He continues looking into my eyes.
“Did you find evidence of this?” he asks.
“No,” I say. “But I know Marcello Greco.”
Killing me first would be too easy, and it wouldn't have given him what he wanted.
Marcello wanted me desperate.
He wanted me spending every resource I possessed trying to save my son and discovering that none of them were enough. Then standing by, helplessly, while he was killed.
And he may think he nearly succeeded too.
But I'm no Marcello Greco.
My son may have been arrested that first night, but I still have my power and influence. That is where Marcello miscalculated. I would never have let him go to prison.
He would have been out of the country before that could ever have happened.
But he would never have been a free man again.
Donna is the reason he is.
As if he can read my mind, Edoardo breaks the silence. “How much does Donna know?”
Every face turns toward me.
I reach for the folder and close it.
“She brought me Lakeview.”
“But she doesn't know about Marcello?” Mario confirms.
“No. Not yet.”
Mario’s eyebrows rise slightly. “Not yet? Do you plan to tell her?”
I think about Donna sitting in front of the fire last night, papers spread across the table, watching my face instead of the documents because she knew I was hiding something.
She had spent days tracing corporations created specifically to make money difficult to follow.
Then she found Lakeview.
And somehow she knew that I knew more than I was willing to tell her before she ever walked through my door.
“She knows I know something,” I say by way of explanation.
Alessio and Edoardo exchange a look, quite familiar with Donna and her ways by now.
“And she let you get away with not telling her?” Alessio asks.
“I am imagining how well that went,” Edoardo muses.
“Poorly.”
Alessio laughs.
“She was angry?” Diego asks.
“Confused.”
Which is worse.
Donna handles anger well. Confusion irritates her.
She told me so herself while looking as though she was deciding whether she wanted to strangle me or throw her coffee at my head.
“You think she's going to leave it alone?” Mario asks.
“No.”
“Then what was the point of telling her nothing?”
I look at him.
“I needed to bring it here first.”
It’s true.
Lakeview was part of the family’s move into Chicago.
Marcello may blame me personally, but what happened did not happen in isolation.
I was not going to explain it to Donna before speaking to my family.
Mario knows that, but he also gives me a look that tells me he understands there's more to it than that.
I walk over to the table near the fireplace and pour myself a drink.
I do not particularly want one. I want something to do with my hands.
“She will keep looking.”
Mario studies me. “You think she will find Marcello?”
“Yes.”
“How soon?”
I take a drink.
“She is very good at what she does,” I say.
From Marcello, Angelo is inevitable.
Arrest records are public. So are death records.
What may take her longer is the reason Marcello connected all of it to me.
Maybe a day. Maybe two.
Probably less.
Ricardo's next words interrupt my thoughts.
“He knows Alessio is free,” he says. “If he planned to make Lorenzo suffer before going after him directly, that plan is gone.”
“Which means we should assume he changes tactics,” Diego says.
I already have.
Marcello has spent two years blaming me for his son’s death.
He came close to destroying mine.
But he failed.
Whatever patience kept him hidden this long may be gone.
Mario looks at me.
“You do not move alone.”
“I know.”
“Lorenzo.”
“I heard you.”
His eyes remain on mine.
I give him a slight nod.
That satisfies him enough to look away.
Alessio, however, is still watching me.
“What?”
He comes closer.
“You really think any of this is your fault?”
I look around the room.
My brothers.
Our sons.
The family Marcello thought he could break by taking one of mine.
I understand his grief.
I even understand his rage.
What I will never accept is what he chose to do with it.
“Angelo’s death does not buy him your life.”
It's not an answer. I know that. But it's enough.
He steadies me for a long moment, then he nods.
When we wrap up the meeting and leave, my mind is on Donna.
Donna, who watched me lie by omission and knew immediately that I was doing it.
Donna, who will probably be sitting in her office this morning with coffee beside her and Mocha at her feet, halfway to Marcello Greco.
And for the first time since she said the name Lakeview Logistics, I let myself admit the part that has been sitting there, right under the surface.
I am not worried about what she will find.
I know exactly what she will find.
I am worried about what she will think of me when she does.