Page 44 of Loss and Damages

“If I can live out the rest of my days with Antonio, I will have all I need.”

“Then I will plead on your behalf.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me.” I study her. Her skin glimmers, her mouth, painted a dark slash of red, is tight with unhappiness.

Her eyes are pinched. She’s lived in misery for years, married to a man she despised.

The wedding photos were a lie. The story of their wedding night, the night I was supposedly conceived, a lie.

I grew up with nothing but lies, and Leo never knew his own father.

“You never loved me, but I still hope you find what little happiness you can. After I speak to him, I’ll contact you.

Pack your things and be ready to go. There’s no reason for him to keep you here. ”

I step into the elevator, but as the doors close, my mother isn’t watching me. She’s staring at the lakescape her son painted.

It’s all she has left of him besides his memory that she turned into a dark and shameful secret.

My father is standing in my office when I enter, anger and rage searing my nerves. The protesters outside are vicious, waving picket signs high in the air. They’re no longer protesting the sale of the 1100 block, now they’re protesting what we’re going to do with it.

The St. Charlotte newspaper ran a front-page article regarding the property I’ve been purchasing in Oakdale Square and it adds fuel to the fire.

The reporter quoted Mayor Wilkins saying we’re working together in a partnership he called the New Neighborhood Initiative.

He didn’t speak to me about it, and I’ll add it to the list of things I can blackmail him with.

He wants to fix his reputation after backing the sale of the 1100 block, but I don’t think he can repair the damage siding with me has caused him.

Not in time for next year’s election.

My shoulders sag. I’m not going to be blackmailing anyone. Those kinds of thoughts are rutted into my brain, deep tracks I need to fight my way out of or I’ll never have the kind of life I want. The kind of life my mother wants with the man she loves.

“Where the fuck have you been?” my father asks, his hands clasped behind his back, never turning from the window as he surveys all we own.

I wanted to be like this man. He was my idol. All I wanted was his approval and love.

I’ll never have it. Not the way I want it. Without strings, without favors. Without having to do one last thing.

I’ve spent thirty-nine years chasing after him, hoping he’d toss me scraps like a starving puppy, and I can’t do it anymore. I don’t want to do it anymore.

“Give Mama the divorce she wants,” I say. There’s no time to play around. I have bigger things to see to than where my mother wants to live out the rest of her life.

He turns and glares at me. “Why?”

My mother never said my father knew Leo wasn’t his.

It’s a secret she’s told no one but Jemma.

Leo’s gone and my father doesn’t need to know.

I’ll give my mother that gift. I shouldn’t bother—she’s never done anything for me—but telling my father a boy he considered his son didn’t belong to him would start a war.

A war I don’t think this Antonio is prepared or equipped to fight.

“Because you don’t love her, she doesn’t love you, and there’s no point being married if you hate your spouse.”

“I loved her once. She was all I wanted and I begged her father for her hand. But she was in love with another man and it angered me knowing she was thinking about him when I made love to her.”

“You knew about that?”

He scoffs. “I know when the president of the United States takes a piss. You think I didn’t know my own wife despised me?”

“Then let her be. You have your mistress, she has someone to run away with. Let it go.”

“What will you give me in return?”

I pin him with my stare. “My love and devotion as your first-born son.”

He matches my gaze, assessing me. He can feel there’s something different about me, and there is. Her name is Jemma, and the picture she made, holding up her cut hands, tears running down her face, shreds me every time I think of it.

“I should already have that.”

“I’ve given you every second of my life since I was old enough to understand my mother would just as soon spit on me as give me a hug.

Never once did you ask why, only accepted the lines as they were drawn after Leo’s birth.

Was it because I made you happy, or because you wanted nothing to do with Leo after Mama declared him her favorite? ”

My father pours a drink, his hand steady. “Leo wasn’t mine. No son of mine would be that soft. A Milano is tough. We tolerate no bullshit and never take no for an answer. I’ve raised you to follow in my footsteps, and until recently, I’ve been satisfied.”

“You knew and never said anything.”

“What was there to be gained? He sucked your mother’s tit, then, as he grew older, kissed her ass. It’s always been you and me, Dominic.” He raises a lowball filled with whiskey in my direction and drains it in one smooth swallow. “Get me that homeless shelter and it will stay that way.”

His words sound good, or they would have, if I wasn’t listening to them over the soft whisper of Jemma’s promises.

She may have kicked me out of her cottage this morning, but if I went crawling back on my bloody hands and knees, she would open her arms, no questions asked.

I know her love isn’t unconditional. If I hurt her family, she would never talk to me again, but she’s given me permission to hurt her over and over because she loves me.

My father has no choice but to leave the company to me.

He has too much pride to sell off any piece of Milano Management and Development, nor would he break it up and donate a penny to charity.

I have many cousins, but none of them have shown the aptitude needed to take control and he wouldn’t trust any of them to sit behind his desk for even a single day.

The company is mine when he dies, a fact he may hate but will not change.

I can do what I want, and he’ll say nothing.

For so long he’s had the power because I let him have it, but now I’m wise enough to turn the tables. He’ll be alone on his side, but I’ll have Jemma on mine.

“Make the call.” I’ll uphold the promise I made to my mother.

“I won’t give her one red cent.”

“She doesn’t want it.”

He walks to my desk and lifts the phone’s receiver. “Get my attorney on the line. I’ll speak to him in my office.” He hangs up and asks, “What do you care about your mother all of a sudden?”

“I don’t, but no one should live that miserably. She’s paid.”

He meets me nose to nose, and I don’t flinch. “I hope you’re not growing weak, like your brother. You’ll wind up in the ditch, just like he did. You may not believe it, but you’re my son, and I love you.”

What he offers as love isn’t the kind a little boy needs to thrive.

I could only be so lucky to have grown up given the love that would have made me as kind and as sensitive as Leo.

My father twists sensitivity and compassion into flaws and faults, but there’s strength in recognizing the beauty in the world.

Jemma will teach me how.

My own parents didn’t.

“I wouldn’t think of it.”

He nods and grunts. “Good. Get me that shelter or I’ll halt the divorce proceedings.”

“You don’t have to worry, Dad.”

He leaves my office to speak to his attorney.

I’ll buy the church and the homeless shelter. I’ll buy the halfway houses, too. Everything is for sale if you have the money to pay.

I’ll buy everything my father commanded me to.

But he didn’t tell me what I had to do with them, and he’ll be unpleasantly surprised when he finds out what I have in store for the buildings.

I don’t care what my father thinks. All I want now is to please Jemma, so when I ask her to marry me, she says yes.

I can’t drive out to Hollow Lake until I can tell Jemma what she wants to hear.

She won’t talk to me if she thinks I’m going through with the plans to raze the 1100 block and put up our high-rise.

I need to prove to her that I’ll do whatever I need to do to keep her, and that includes implementing her ideas for the homes and businesses in Oakdale Square.

I can picture her sitting behind my desk, telling me what she thinks I should do with the trailer park and rundown buildings like the Scarlet Wing. She’ll be thrilled when I tell her my plans for the homeless shelter and the halfway houses.

I don’t need the money. I have enough to last a hundred lifetimes. The only thing I’m greedy for now is Jemma’s kisses and the family I hope she’ll want to give me when I ask her to be mine.

I text Duncan and have him meet me in the underground parking garage.

I’m tired of these games, of arranging decoys to move ahead to distract the picketers.

They chase after the town car, throwing rocks, cans, bottles, whatever they can get their hands on.

The police are having a difficult time keeping them in check, or perhaps their families too, are affected, and they look the other way when the angry mob throws smoke bombs at the company cars.

No one is paying attention to us, and we’re able to clear the building without incident.

Stoic and keeping his eyes on the road, Duncan doesn’t say anything. He’s never made his opinion known and I’ve never asked if he agrees with my business decisions. I sign his paycheck and he keeps his thoughts to himself.

“Is there word on who broke into Miss Ferrell’s gallery?

” I ask as he navigates the pothole-ridden back roads that lead to the First Baptist Christian church.

I have an appointment with the pastor, who also owns the land the church sits on, and the director of the homeless shelter.

They think the meeting is to talk about me buying them out, but I’d like to come to a more agreeable solution.