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23

DANTE

T he visitors’ room of the Metropolitan Correctional Center was colder than I expected, the kind of institutional chill designed to make people uncomfortable. I’d been waiting nearly twenty minutes—long enough to wonder if Vincent would refuse to see me—when the heavy door finally opened.

My brother entered with the same fluid grace he’d shown in the courtroom, as though the shackles were merely accessories rather than restraints. His gaze found mine immediately, and the slight curve of his lips told me he’d delayed his arrival intentionally. Some things never changed—Vincent had always understood the power of making people wait.

“Well.” He settled into the metal chair across from me with practiced ease. “This is an interesting development. Shouldn’t you be preparing for your next day of testimony?”

I studied him, noting the calculated intelligence behind his casual demeanor. Everything about Vincent was deliberate—from his unhurried movements to the way he settled into the seat like this was his office. Even here, where every one of his freedoms had been compromised, he projected an aura of absolute control.

“I was at the lake house today.”

His expression didn’t change, but something shifted in his eyes. “Were you, now?” His voice carried that familiar note of condescension he’d always used when he thought I was missing something obvious. “And what did you hope to find in that old place?”

Memories of summers at Great Sacandaga Lake flickered through my mind—the smell of pine needles, the sound of waves against the dock, our mother’s laugh carrying across the water. Before everything changed. Before she vanished into whatever elaborate protection scheme Vincent had constructed.

“I met our sister.”

For just a moment, the mask slipped. A flash of something—concern? Pride? Then his features smoothed back into that practiced calm. But not before I caught the slight tightening around his eyes that told me I’d scored a point.

“Interesting assumption.”

“It’s not an assumption. The resemblance to Mom is unmistakable.” I leaned forward slightly, studying him.

A muscle twitched in his jaw—another tell I remembered from the years spent in his presence. It meant I was getting too close to something he wanted to protect.

“If you’re trying to provoke me, little brother, you’ll have to do better.” He adjusted his position, making the chains clink softly. “Though I am curious why you’d come all this way just to report a visit to a place that stopped mattering years ago.”

I shifted tactics. “We found your cache of photos of Lark Gregory. Obsessed much?”

His laugh was soft but held no warmth. It reminded me of Vincent Senior’s laugh—the one he’d use right before someone got hurt. “You still don’t see it, do you? After all these years playing both sides, you still can’t recognize the bigger picture when it’s right in front of you.”

“Enlighten me.”

“Why should I? So you can add it to your testimony? Include it in whatever deal you’ve made with the DOJ?” He tilted his head like I was a particularly disappointing child. “Tell me, does it help you sleep at night, believing your betrayal was justified?”

“ My betrayal?” The words were paired with the same level of condescension he’d used. “You’re the one who continued your father’s legacy. Drug trafficking, murder, judicial corruption?—”

“I protected this family!” The words cracked like a whip in the sterile room. Then, just as quickly, his voice returned to that same controlled calm that was somehow more threatening than any show of anger. “Everything I did was to maintain the delicate balance that kept certain people alive.”

“What balance? Between whom?”

He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Have you ever wondered, Alessandro, why our father wanted nothing to do with you? Why I always made sure to stand between you and him?” He traced a pattern on the table with one finger.

“What are you talking about?”

“Dad wasn’t exactly pleased when he figured out you weren’t his.”

“How long after my mother left did he figure it out?”

“ Our mother and, within hours. She signed both your death warrants that day.”

“What does that mean?”

“It took considerable effort to convince him you were more valuable alive than dead. Now, of course, I regret that move.”

“Are you saying you protected me?” I asked, chuckling.

“Someone had to.” His chains rattled as he shifted position.

“Where is she, Vincent? Where’s our mother?”

“Safe.” His eyes narrowed. “Which is more than I can say for Summer Gregory if you lead the Mazzeos to her.”

“What do the Mazzeos want with her?”

His smile was knowing. He’d already figured out that the news he was imparting wasn’t a revelation. “You know exactly what they’d do to a woman responsible for the death of one of their own.”

“Are you suggesting she killed the father of her child?”

He studied me for a long moment. “Summer and I weren’t the only ones who witnessed what happened.” His voice took on an almost philosophical tone. “It’s interesting how one choice can alter so many lives. Like dominoes. Except in this instance, it wasn’t a choice. Not if she wanted to protect herself and her kid.”

“What happened that night?”

He scoffed. “As if I’d tell you.”

“What about our mother?” I emphasized the word like he had. “What happened to her?”

“I kept her safe. Alive.”

“Why does she have to remain in hiding? Is it because of Summer? Or because of our sister?”

Vincent smirked and shook his head. “Still so naive, Sandro, and to think I traded her life for yours. At least, that’s what my father thought.”

“There was an unidentified deceased woman found not long after Joseph Rossetti’s corpse turned up. Who was she?”

Vincent shrugged like it—she—didn’t matter.

“You killed her and somehow made it appear that our mother died instead.” I shook my head in disgust.

“Would you have preferred I let you and her die?”

“What about Rossetti? Did you arrange for his death too? Or did you kill him yourself?”

“The old man wanted that pleasure.”

“She was pregnant again when she disappeared. Who’s the baby’s father?”

His eyes scrunched. “What difference does it make?”

My eyes flared. “None.” In the same way it didn’t matter that Vincent and I were sired by different men. No matter how much I might argue otherwise, he and I were brothers . “Lay it out for me. You helped Mom disappear, figured out a way to convince your father she was dead, and somehow convinced him to let me live? The last part doesn’t sound like you or him.”

“As it turned out, it was the stupidest decision I ever made.”

“And yet you made it.”

He shrugged a second time. “It didn’t seem fair that your life should be sacrificed for the sins of our mother.”

I laughed out loud. “Fair has never been a word in your vocabulary.”

“Maybe at one time it was.”

My mind raced, connecting dots. Mom vanishing. Summer going into hiding. Both of them pregnant. Both connected to families that were Castellano enemies. “You arranged it all. Their disappearances, identities, money, everything.”

“I did what needed to be done. No different than any other day of my life.” For the first time, real emotion crept into his voice.

“Our sister is the only one on the compound.”

His eyes closed momentarily, and he shook his head. “This is a waste of time.”

“What’s her name?”

Vincent sighed, and his shoulders drooped, almost as in defeat. “Chiara. It means luminous.”

“You care about her.”

“Of course I do.”

“And Summer.”

I saw the corner of his eyes crease even though he’d steeled his expression. It was as though hearing her name hurt.

“You love her.” I waited for a reaction that didn’t come. “Even though Lark isn’t your child.” Something else occurred to me. “You wanted me to find them. And until I did, you wanted me to think you intended to harm Lark and her grandmother. That’s what the cryptic courtroom shit was all about.”

Again, no reaction.

“And the brick? More of the same?” I raised a brow at the almost imperceptible tell. “Wait. That wasn’t you?”

Once again, he had no visible reaction.

“Stop the fucking games, Vincent. Tell me what I’m up against, or I’ll let them fend for themselves.”

“Sure you will.” His laugh held no humor. “This was never a game, Alessandro. This was survival. For all of us.” He leaned forward, his voice dropping lower. “Did you think it was coincidence that brought you to that coffee shop? That led you to her?”

“What are you saying? That you had something to do with it? Like you knew me well enough to predict I’d?—”

“Got ya,” he muttered. His teasing reminded me of when we were young and he’d won whatever game we were playing. That our lives had changed so drastically made my chest hurt. But then, knowing I was doing everything in my power to take down my brother, along with our family’s criminal organization, had always been painful.

“Fuck off,” I snapped back, willing the momentary closeness I remembered between us away. “You aren’t anywhere near as smart as you think you are.”

“Right, you keep tellin’ yourself that, brother.”

“What was your plan?”

“Some forces, once set in motion, can’t be stopped. Some secrets, once revealed, can’t be buried again.” His eyes met mine, and for a moment, I saw past the calculating mastermind to something more human. More broken. “The Mazzeos have waited over twenty-five years for vengeance. What do you think they’ll do now that I’m not around to stop them? You think they’ve forgotten? Or forgiven? It won’t just be Summer they come after. Lark is in just as much danger.”

The implications made my chest tight. “You think they’ll kill one of their own?”

He shook his head. “They’ll just make her wish she was dead. You think someone like Lark can be a part of that world?”

“Tell me where her mother is. Then, I’ll agree to protect her.”

He chuckled. “You’ll protect her anyway.”

I’d had enough. I pushed the chair back and stood, grabbing it before it crashed to the floor. “If you don’t fucking tell me where she is, where our mother is, then I can’t keep any of them safe. Not soon enough.”

“Right under your nose, Sandro.” Vincent motioned to the guard who unshackled the cuff from where it had been attached to the table, then grabbed his arm to pull him up. I watched him being led away, my mind churning with things he’d revealed and his suggestion that he’d orchestrated my path to Lark. That part, I didn’t believe.

I left the jail and was about to hail a cab to take me to the airport. First, I pulled out my phone and called Tank.

“How’d it go?” he asked.

“There are endless ways to hide from thermal imaging. They’re on that compound,” I said. “And if we don’t hurry up and find them, the Mazzeos will beat us to it.”

“Roger that. Do you want us to wait to mobilize?”

“Fuck no. Best-case scenario, I’m two hours out. By the time I get there, it might be too late.” And the reason? I’d led the Mazzeos right to them.