Page 87 of Secret Baby for the Mafia Don

"Everything. Ballistics on their weapons. Recent arrivals of known hit teams." I run a hand through my hair, assessing, calculating. "Maybe he knows them, but if not, someone brought these men in, housed them, briefed them. There's a trail somewhere."

"Falcone will want extra for this," Roman warns. "Especially if it means burying evidence from an active crime scene."

"Pay him whatever he wants." Money is meaningless compared to information right now. "Tell him I need preliminary findings by tomorrow night. And I want access to any surveillance footage from the surrounding area—traffic cams, security systems, everything within a five-block radius."

Roman makes the call.

"Also," I add before Roman finishes the call, "have Falcone run background checks on everyone who knew about this warehouse's security protocols. Everyone."

Roman's eyes narrow slightly. "You mean everyone here tonight too? Including Frank?"

"Everyone," I repeat, keeping my voice neutral.

Someone is trying to bring Antonio and La Corona down from the inside.

It seems unlikely it’s Frank, but everyone can be bought for a price. Salvatore and his hunger for power taught me that.

I make arrangements for the two men I lost to be removed from the scene. Neither is married, but they do have parents whom I’ll take care of. It’s a promise I make to all the men who risk their lives for me and my business.

“I’m going to see Antonio. Roman and Frank, you’re in charge of the cleanup. Roman, you deal with Falcone when he gets here.”

When I arrive at Antonio’s, it’s late and he’s asleep.

In the past, I would have had his staff wake him up, but I decide not to do that tonight.

No sense in having him deal with this when he’s not more alert. I leave a note for him to call me on his desk and then head home.

I’m bone tired and amped up as I walk through my door. Nearly being killed has a way of boosting adrenaline.

Entering my home also brings Gabriella to mind, adding to the crazy mix of fatigue and agitation.

I owe her an apology, but I’m not in a state to go toe to toe with her.

I decided that a drink is in order. I grab a bottle of whisky and head to my room.

I take a quick shower, put on lounge pants and a T-shirt, and drink my first glass of whisky looking out my window over the bitterly cold night.

The sky is clear, and seeing it makes me think back to Christmas Eve when I was eight and trying to stay up to see Santa’s sleigh in the night sky.

I was filled with wonder and excitement then, not unlike what I often see in Gabriella when she’s not being stubborn or assertive. She was lucky to have Antonio as a father.

Yes, he indulged her, but by doing so, she’s retained the light that makes her so uniquely her.

Me? By the end of that Christmas Eve night nearly forty years ago, I was humiliated and beaten by my father, with the help of my brother. I never believed in Santa again.

I never believed in anything except that my survival depended on keeping everyone at a distance.

I pour another glass of whisky, drink it, and pour another, repeating until I feel numb.

It’s been a long time since I’ve drunk this much because I like to keep my wits about me.

But I’m so fucking tired of holding to life with an iron grip.

Guarding my thoughts and feelings is exhausting, especially with Gabriella in my orbit.

I down the amber liquid and spill a bit as I refill my glass, wondering what it would be like to let loose like Gabriella wants me to.

What would that be like?