Chapter Forty-Eight
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
DOMINIC
It took everything I had in me to leave her. However, Hilda gave me her word that she’d protect Angel, and I believed her. The words have never passed between us, but they don’t need to. She knows who I am. She’s always known. Since the day Angel moved into the Romanov mansion, she spoke her truth between the lines.
“I was asleep in the staff quarters when… Well, it’s my honor to serve this family again.”
Like I said to myself on Christmas Eve, fifteen years ago; There may not have been an alarm, but the servants’ quarters weren’t that far away. Six gunshots could’ve woken the dead.
And the loyal.
So, with my mind at as much ease as it can be, I focus on getting answers. I’ve waited long enough. The game is over. Every card is on the table.
Except for one .
This time as I storm through Monty’s Auto Body Repair Shop, there’s no Sophia to stop me. No Carlo standing guard as I kick the office door open. Nothing but a smug man in a designer Italian suit sitting behind his desk puffing away on a half-smoked cigar.
A man like Luciano doesn’t clear his entire shield unless he has a good reason.
He knew I was coming.
He doesn’t bother to acknowledge the gun clenched in my hand as he tucks the cigar between his teeth. “What took you so long?”
It’s not a challenge or a taunt. It’s a loaded question. And he’ll get his answer. As soon as I get mine.
My finger curls around the trigger as I hold his stare. “Greg Rosten is missing.”
He draws in a deep inhale. “Good riddance.”
Not good enough. I’m not his soldier or his runner or his boy anymore. When I ask a question, it’s not to seek out information. It’s to verify what I already suspect. “The Vitoli family has always controlled the unions in this town. Which means Marco has his dick all up in the Screen Actors Guild’s pussy.” Folding my arms across my chest, I pace the room, tapping my gun against my bicep. “That puts you in pretty close contact with Silverline, doesn’t it?”
“Is this going anywhere, or are you just being dramatic?”
“I bet you get to know a lot of people while yanking all those SAG strings. Famous actors. Up and coming directors.” Pausing in front of him, I brace my hands on the edge of his desk. “Studio night guards.”
His pale eyes flicker. “Is that right?”
I need to maintain the upper hand, so I push off his desk and continue my slow pace in front of him. “See, I kept trying to figure out how this Salvatore guy had no record or recollection of Angel going into Silverline or leaving. She’s positive she did. Someone bruised her neck.” Pausing again, I glance over my shoulder. “So how is it that there isn’t any record of her being there, Luciano?”
He studies me with that glare of superiority that used to force my eyes to the ground. When I don’t relent, he smirks. “I’m sure you’ll tell me.”
“How about you tell me something for once? Is Salvatore Guiliani on your payroll? A nice Italian family man looking to put his kids through college?”
That smirk fades into a scowl. He didn’t expect that, which is what I banked on. “If you got something to say, boy, say it. Otherwise, you’re about to cross a line you don’t want to cross.”
Wrong. I don’t care if either of us walks out of this room. I’m not backing down.
“Did you kill Greg Rosten?”
Luciano’s eyes darken as he slams his cigar into the ashtray. “No, but I wish to hell I had. That sack of shit deserved a lot more than he got.”
I want to leap across the desk and press my gun right between his eyes, but unfortunately for him, he taught me too well. “You said you didn’t kill him,” I say, forcing a neutral expression.
“Is my word not good enough for you now?”
I don’t answer, which I know pisses him off even more. When the underboss asks a question, he expects to be answered. But Luciano is nothing if not unpredictable, and instead of pulling out his own gun and making this a fair fight, he nods his head.
“I think I remember this Salvatore person. Decent guy. Would give you the shirt right off his back if you asked for it.” Giving me a pointed look, he places a flash drive on the edge of his desk. “As for Rosten, well, who knows where he is. Wherever it is, he should stay there. You know what they say happens when you fuck with wolves.”
I’ve known Luciano Ricci for seventeen years. The man doesn’t speak in metaphors. That’s why, after I pocket the flash drive, he has my full attention. “They bite?”
“They protect their own.” We say nothing as the clock in my head ticks away, then he glances away, reaching for a new cigar. “So, I’ll ask again, what took you so long? Every time you walked through that door, I waited. But you never asked,” he says, pointing the unlit Cuban at me. “All these years, and you kept your mouth shut. So, ask me, Dominic.”
“Who ordered the hit on the Romanovs?” The words squeeze my chest as fifteen years of silence finally breaks free.
He leans forward. “Who do you think?”
“No.” It can’t be true. But I see it. It’s there in his hardened stare.
“Who have I been busting my balls trying to protect you from, huh? Who have I told you time and time again not to fuck with? But you’re so goddamn stubborn, Dominic.” Growling, he throws the cigar across the office. “Jesus, you’d think you were a Ricci with all that vengeance.”
“Why would he do that?”
“It’s not my job to ask questions. That was Marco’s deal. It was passed down to me, and I passed it down to you and Joey.”
Something isn’t right. If the deal didn’t go straight to Luciano, then there’s no way he’d risk his balls by handing such a high profile hit to a seventeen-year-old kid. Joey was experienced—a proven soldier, respected by Marco and his men. Luciano took a major risk in trusting I’d be able to kill…
Oh fuck .
A jagged knife tears through my gut as the blind trust of a seventeen-year-old boy collides with the harsh truth of a thirty-two-year-old man. “I didn’t earn that trust,” I say, my hand clenching into a fist. “You sent me because you knew I’d turn on Joey. Because you knew I’d protect the kids.”
“Marco sanctioned that shit. Not me. You want to talk about trust, boy? I didn’t give a flying fuck about Romanov and his wife. But those kids...” For the first time, I see regret in his eyes. “I don’t fuck with kids. There’s only one soldier I trusted to take on Joey and save them.”
“But I didn’t save them.”
“You saved one.”
The hits keep coming, and the strong resolve I walked in here with starts to fade. I back up, brushing the back of my hand across my forehead. “You knew then ? You knew I took Alexandra out of that house?”
“My ass was on the line, too, boy. Even if you only got a few of those kids out, I knew you’d need help.”
“Help?” I roar, throwing my arms out wide. “You let me run with that girl and didn’t say a damn word! I drove her across state lines and left her with my crazy aunt.”
“I know.”
“You know?” Rounding his desk, I grab a handful of his shirt, balling it in my hand. “If you know, then why the hell didn’t you help me look for her when she disappeared in the middle of the—?” It’s the defiant look in his eyes that lands the final chess piece in place. “Holy shit,” I breathe, staggering backward. “She didn’t run away. You took her.”
The truth has been there all along. One step ahead of me with a hand on my back.
“I don’t kill kids, Dominic,” he says, smoothing his shirt. “But I don’t let them run their mouths to cops, either. Some Vitoli associates ran a group home in Phoenix and owed me a favor. A doctored birth certificate and a social security number and your girl, Angel Smith, was born.” He shrugs. “Sorry for the shitty last name, but she didn’t give me much to work with.”
“But my aunt—”
“Was paid a hundred thousand dollars to keep her whore mouth shut.” A smirk creeps along his mouth. “And given a nice scar to remember her oath in case Jim Beam decided to talk for her.”
I know the scar he’s talking about. It’s a jagged, silver line down her cheek. “She never said shit to me. Even when I went to Phoenix when mom died.”
Luciano frowns, the corners of his eyes turning down. “Carlo told me about your mother. I’m sorry.”
I don’t want his sympathy. I want to know how the fuck Angel got from Phoenix to Chula Vista. “But she left that home when she was sixteen.”
“Lost track of her for a while. Finally caught up with her again, thanks to you and your shit show on Paulo Bellini. Once I saw a picture of Jade Saxton, I knew I’d found her. Tracked her ass right to Chula Vista.”
“To save your own ass in case her memory came back?” I shout.
His palm slams against his desk. “No! To save yours!”
I don’t want his protection. “When she turned eighteen, why not just kill both of us and save yourself years of trouble?”
Luciano’s face flushes bright red, and he backhands the ashtray, sending it crashing to the floor. Rising out of his chair, he looms across his desk, fire in his eyes. “Because you’re family, Dominic. You saved that girl. She meant something to you. I could see it in your eyes.”
“But Rosten—”
“I told you not to go after him,” he roars, pounding his fists against the wood. “I warned you, and you wouldn’t listen!”
“You could’ve told me how dangerous he really was.”
He lets out a dry laugh. “You were out for blood already, Dominic. If I told you he ordered the hit on that girl and her family, you wouldn’t have just tried to ruin him. You would’ve tried to kill him.”
He’s right.
“What about afterward? The lawsuit. I came to you.” Resentment wells inside me. “I begged you for help, and you turned your back on me. You told me I was dead to you.”
“What’s more important to you, boy? That business or your life? I could’ve helped you build another business, but once there’s a bullet in your brain, that’s it. If I’d bailed you out, you don’t think that asshole would’ve put two and two together eventually? He didn’t know you were there that night, but if I started throwing my weight behind you and against him, you better be damn sure he’d have figured it out. Use your brain,” he shouts, jabbing his finger against his temple. “If Marco didn’t kill us, someone else would’ve.”
“You knew she was the real Alexandra Romanov. You lied to me.”
“I told you to send her back to Chula Vista, and you wouldn’t listen. I told you she’d get inside your head and bring you to your knees, and you still didn’t listen. I even told you once the real Alexandra Romanov came forward, we were both fucked, and you still didn’t fucking listen. So, did I lie, Dominic? Or did you just not want to see the truth?”
I don’t know why I didn’t see it before. Why it didn’t cross my mind. Luciano buys everyone. Unions. Politicians. Law Enforcement .
Pharmaceutical companies.
“Son of a bitch, it was you. You were the one who had the test switched to BioLink.”
“I knew what the results would be.”
“But why?”
“Eventually you’d both need proof. Why not already have it?”
“Did you have my contact fired, too? Did you set the reveal in motion on purpose?” Because I swear, if he did, I might empty my gun right now.
“No. That was dumb luck. As your girl would say, ‘fate always finds a way’.”
I’ve said before that tension smells like a strained rubber band being stretched to its breaking point. After fifteen years of strain, it finally snaps with one final unanswered question hanging in the air.
“When you gave Joey and me the job, you told me it was over a debt. It wasn’t, was it?”
Luciano’s eyes cloud as he lowers himself back into his chair and pulls out a third cigar. “Why don’t you go pay your friend Rubio a visit? Ask him to dig up files on one of his dad’s old buddies. Name’s Larry Kramer.” Clipping off the end of the cigar, he glances up at me. “Sometimes the dirtiest layers are hidden by the most honorable shields.”
I don’t wait. With my gun by my side, I turn my back on him and walk away.
“Dominic?” I pause in the doorway, but don’t turn around. “Whatever happened in the past is the past. You love that girl. Whether you’ll admit it or not, in some way, you’ve been looking for her for fifteen years. Most people don’t get a second chance to make things right. Don’t fuck it up.”
I can’t see his face, but I can feel his words. There’s loss there. Emotion. Pain. Almost as if he’s speaking from a dark place he’s locked away.
“Alexandra’s messes are your responsibility now,” he adds, the spicy scent of cigar smoke hitting my nose as I walk away. “My job is done.”