Page 8 of Cara

My pulse slackens.

The fears my natural mind has created begin to dissipate.

I amallhatred, piercing him with an unwavering gaze.

My father does his best to look unperturbed by my recovery, standing with his hands tucked behind his suspenders. The pistol that could end all of this rests peacefully in his holster.

Dario makes an uncomfortable grunt as my body sways. There’s no feeling in my knees. “Boss, it’s been hours…”

Arturo’s eyes remain clasped to mine. “Again.”

The sliding metal door to the warehouse opens, revealing the Marcello Family’s consigliere. Henri has a group of men tailing him. “Boss.”

My father sucks back a vicious explicit in English, but a few loose under his breath in his first language. “You were told to remain outside,” he seethes, barely composed.

Disoriented, my focus shifts to our audience—new blood looking positively horrified by what they see as they’re ushered hastily out of the reeking space. A father tearing his son apart from the inside out. Some of them I’ve gone on calls with. Some dine in my restaurant, a distant cousin or a man brought in with the promise of an exuberant life.

The illusion dies right before their eyes.

This is the reality of this life. This is where you end up.

Sweat coasts down the side of my father’s face now thatwe’re alone again, pissed as hell. He removes his handkerchief from his waistcoat, patting his agitated flesh until it’s crimson. For a fleeting moment, I’m weak enough to wonder whether he’s taking the blood pressure medication his doctor recently prescribed to him.

That thought, that insufferable chink in my armor, makes this so goddamn worse.

Arturo is summoned from the door. Not unusual at this time of day. Normally, I’d be swapping my desk at the restaurant for a tinted conference room at the club, watching fucked up people do fucked up things for the greater portion of the night.

My father’s hands slam against his side as he crosses the hollow room for the exit. Dario’s grip loosens with each step my dad takes, releasing me completely once the boss has freed himself from this unbearable hellhole. Unable to sit upright, my forearms catch onto the edge of the basin.

To steel myself, I draw in a bracing breath and turn to set a devilish glare onto my executioner. “What made you think it was a good idea to cross me?”

“Vito chose me. I had no choice, X.”

“You know he’s a fucking pazzo.”

“Well, stoppushing him. Just tell him where she is. Then we can all go home.”

The agony pulsating under my flesh is pushed back only by my desire for vengeance. Any form of it. I just need a win. “My father doesn’t understand loyalty. He’s a fucking fossil. He lacks the ability to see what we can do here.”

“What’s that?”

“If I rise, we all do. The media isforme. The politicians. The police are for me. I have connections with other houses he doesn’t even know about. If word leaks out about this, not only will the men I’ve combed the streets with, built relationships with follow me, buttheywill too. I’d have control of twofamilies, and that’s something unprecedented, something that would finally bring us out of the shadows.”

Dario stares at my bloody face, my swollen eyes half-shut, saying nothing.

He’s listening. That’s what matters.

“Make the tide turn, Dario, and I will ensure you become more than a damn picchiatore.”

The bastard made of pure muscle shoots an uncertain glance to the doorway. “What happens to the Boss?”

A long-suppressed wickedness seeps into my veins.

“Leave that to me.”

I don’t have enough strength to lift my head from the rows of wire behind me. To shift is to put pressure on my feet, which have been bludgeoned with corkscrews, so I do my best to remain still.

Impatience eclipses any pain I suffer.