Page 26 of The Italian Reckoning (A New York Criminal Empire #3)

ROCKY

I hate him.

I think I always have. I just didn’t realize it until now.

There’s no love in my father’s eyes when he looks at me and no love in my own heart when I hear his voice.

If there’s anything at all, it’s fear. Fear that the man I live under might one day decide I’ve made one mistake too many.

Fear that I won’t be able to protect the people I care about.

Fear that I’m nothing more than a tool to be used to keep everyone else in line.

After all, if Matteo Barati will torture his own son, then no one else is safe.

Every single person around the table who sneaks a glance at the cast wrapped around my broken arm shares the same look. Apprehension. Fear of what could happen to them since I’m clearly not safe.

My father took my actions as an extreme betrayal, but thankfully, he let Sarah live.

A choice he made not out of the goodness of his heart but as a means to control me.

I showed him my weakness and now he has control over it.

One toe out of line from me and it will be her head on the chopping block.

How did it come to this? I wanted to show my father that there was a better way to rule, a way that made us stronger as a family and as an organization. Instead, he’s so set in his own ways that anything different is a betrayal and I’m wrong for even trying.

My heart aches and my mind drifts as the conversations about deals, business ventures, and partnerships are lost under my constant, repetitive thoughts about Sarah.

I haven’t seen her since that morning. A morning that started like a dream and ended up a nightmare.

I tried to get word to her through Evelyn, but I’m not confident Evelyn even understood my cryptic message.

Staying away from Sarah keeps her alive, but it’s becoming the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.

I want to be there for her to hear her laugh and see that smile.

Hell, I’d even take her yelling at me just to hear her voice.

Every day I’m away from her is a day that killer could take her from me permanently.

But any action I take is a death sentence for both of us.

“Well?” Matteo’s sharp voice cuts through my thoughts and suddenly, all eyes are on me, heavy with the weight of expectation. There’s an answer I’m supposed to give. Some sort of solution to the problem presented, but I wasn’t listening and I have nothing.

“The black market for organs is tricky,” speaks up a smooth voice, and all attention drifts briefly to Domenico Del Prete, my father’s advisor.

A fluff position at this point since my father takes advice from no one these days.

But with a few words, he directs me on to the right track and I thank him with a subtle glance.

“Tricky, yes, because the old ways of doing things are dying. We can’t cart organs about and think that we won’t get caught or run into trouble.

These days, the value lies in how quickly we get them from body to body.

Fastest way to do that is with an online auction.

Placeholders for each organ with teams on standby for immediate shipment.

Plus…” I take a calming breath, maintaining my monotone delivery.

“If we want to flood the market and chase away competition, we should cut in the Russians.”

“Why on earth would I do that?” Matteo asks sharply. “I’m not here to line the pockets of other families.”

“Sure. But we share the drug trade and in case you forget, the Russians have access to hospitals. Their deal with the Irish is for pharmaceutical drugs and they have their hooks in every hospital across the state. So cut them in before they catch wind of what we’re doing and just take it for themselves. ”

“I like this idea,” Domenico says calmly. “Nipping a problem in the bud before it has a chance to grow. We could use more insight like this.”

A murmur of agreement rises around the table and my father, after shooting a glare toward Domenico, nods. “Indeed. I don’t want a Ruskie thinking they can swoop in and take what’s mine.”

My father has no idea how lucky he is that Anastasia will never hear him say that.

“I’ll set up a meeting.” Domenico stands and exits the room, followed by everyone else after a pointed throat-clearing by my father.

I’m about to do the same when he taps the table with one hand and fixes me with a steady stare. “Wait.”

Retaking my seat, I try to ignore how my heart gives an uneasy few beats at being left alone with the man who saw fit to break my bones as punishment.

Outside of this estate, I feel like I can take on the world.

I can go anywhere and do anything. No one and nothing stands in my way.

But here, I’m suddenly nine years old again waiting for the lick of a belt and a sharp word.

No matter how often I tell myself I’m better than what he reduces me to, it never sticks.

I’ll always be nine years old.

“Drink?” Matteo’s chair scrapes back with a rough sound that makes my teeth ache.

“Can’t.” I lift my cast. “Painkillers.”

“A little alcohol won’t hurt,” he replies as he steps up to the drinks cart and pours two Scotches. “Drink.”

Everything is a test with him, and as he places the glass down in front of me, I can already tell that failing this one is inevitable.

I don’t plan on risking my life by mixing drink and painkillers, yet that seems to be exactly what he’s taunting me to do.

As if I’m to choose between his orders and my own life.

“No,” I say flatly. “Unless you plan on funneling it down my throat…” I slide the glass away. “Pour me something else.”

Matteo sighs deeply and stands over me, looming like an unshakable shadow. He sips slowly and swallows so audibly that the wet glug of his throat causes my stomach to roll with disgust.

“You know,” he says after a few minutes of silence, “I’m proud to see you finally stepping up.”

My heart jumps when he moves, but Matteo simply returns to his seat. “Oh?”

“Ideas like this online auction are what keep us ahead of anyone else looking to muscle in on our business. That’s the kind of ingenuity I expect from my son.”

“It’s just common sense,” I reply flatly. “We’re not in the dark ages. Everything is online these days and harder and harder to trace.”

“Exactly.” He tips his glass toward me. “I’m glad to see you’ve finally learned your lesson.”

My attention dips to the off-white cast thickly wrapped around my broken arm.

I’ve broken limbs in the past, but this was different.

This was done on purpose by my own father, and then I was denied medical treatment for hours so he could get his point across.

As sickening as the pain was—and still is—nothing hurt quite like my father pinning me by my broken arm on the floor of the limo while he detailed all the twisted things he’d do to Sarah the next time I step out of line.

I learned a lesson, alright.

My father is unreachable. He’s an archaic figurehead from a time when respect was beaten out of people, not earned. I hate him.

I hate him .

“You know…” Standing, I straighten my shirt and look him dead in the eye.

“You accept modern solutions to things like our organ shipments. I respect that. But what I don’t respect is how you fail to see that we can do more for our people, and build a stronger family, by being out there among our people rather than dictating their lives from stuffy offices. ”

My father’s face darkens like a sky consumed by a rolling storm and he slams his glass down so hard that his precious Scotch sloshes over his fingers. “Rocky?—”

“Goodnight, Father.”

The word tastes like ash and I hold my head high as I exit the meeting hall. I know I shouldn’t taunt him. Knowing my luck, I’ll eat shit tomorrow as punishment or, God forbid, Sarah will end up in harm's way because I can’t keep my mouth shut.

But I’m tired. I’m in pain. And I’m defeated.

What more can I do but poke the bear until he ends my life? I have no power here, not really. He made that abundantly clear. I’m just his son, a bag to kick around when he wants to send a message. What kind of life is this?

Even leaving bears the risk that Matteo will just go straight for Sarah. The thought of anything happening to her turns my stomach and I ache just to hear her voice. To know that she’s okay.

Fuck.

How did things get so fucking complicated?

I wander the manor until the estate falls silent as those with responsibility retire to bed, leaving no one awake but me and a handful of guards who pay me no mind. Most won’t even look me in the eye because they fear my father, and I can’t blame them.

My wandering eventually brings me to the kitchen where I stand near the fridge and wrestle one-handed with the bottle of painkillers. My broken arm throbs like a bruise under constant pressure and several small spots hidden under the cast itch like ants dancing across my skin. I hate it.

“Let me.” A warm hand reaches over my shoulder and takes the medicine bottle from me. Domenico pops the cap with ease and tips a couple of pills onto the palm of his hand. “Here.”

“Thanks,” I say gruffly, taking the offered pills and swallowing them dry. They catch in the back of my throat and I cough slightly while Dominico hands me a glass of water.

“Drink.”

I almost tell him to fuck off but in the end, I chase the pills with several gulps of cool water and they slide down without issue. “Thanks.”

“How’s the pain?”

“How do you think?”

“Rocky.”

“What?”

“I’m not your father.”

“And?” Irritation swells up like a balloon in my chest and I face Domenico with fire in my eyes, but there’s nothing but calmness in his.

Because that’s what he’s always been. Calm. Maybe that’s how he’s survived being my father’s advisor for all these years. Even now, he looks like we’re discussing something as simple as the weather, and my stomach flips.

“Sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize.” Domenico takes the empty glass from me. “I’m asking because I need to know if you need an adjustment in the pain medication. It was a clean break but it was tormented.”

“Because that’s what he does,” I mutter softly. “He torments.”

To Domenico’s credit, he has been there for me over the years.

Always a silent, calm shadow to take care of me after my father’s outbursts, and even to take a few blows himself.

One thing I’ve never been able to work out, though, is why he stays.

And why my father hasn’t killed him. They’re cut from similar cloth and were raised together as children, so that has to influence him sometimes, but I can’t connect how two men from the same walk of life turned out so differently.

My father is a raging inferno while Domenico is as calm as the morning tide.

“So, how is the pain?” Leaning back against the kitchen counter, Domenico’s eyes lock onto the cast. “Do you need anything stronger?”

It’s far too easy to give in to my irritation and take it out on Domenico, but as soon as we lock eyes, guilt overtakes the irritation in my chest so I shake my head. “No. It’s fine. I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.”

“No, but I have to be. What other choice do I have?”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there to take some of the heat.”

“You’ve been in Italy for six months. There’s no way you could have known.”

“I wish you'd called me.”

“And said what? Hey, Dad’s going insane, our people are in pain, and I’m falling in love with a cop. Wanna come get yelled at for me?”

“You’re in love with her?” A soft, knowing smile slips onto Domenico’s lips.

“I… you know what I mean.”

“If you mean what you say, then sure.”

“It’s… love is just a turn of phrase. I don’t…” Trailing off, I’m unsure whether I’m trying to persuade myself or Domenico. I had initially meant it as an easy way to explain the influx of crazy emotions around Sarah, but now that the word is out in the air, I’m unsure.

Is that how I feel? Or is my longing for her just amplifying everything I feel? The noise in my head is growing to overwhelming levels, and part of my ache for her is the ache to feel her touch… and that silence.

“I’m not here to pass judgment,” Domenico says quietly.

“I’m here to try and restore order. After Noah, things have been spiraling, but I heard that we were making friends.

The Russians. The Irish. After the gala, I expected everything to implode, but Matteo simply uses that as an excuse to shut down any hope of expansion.

I’m surprised he agreed to the organ deal with the Russians. ”

“That’s because it benefits him and keeps the Russians below him. In his eyes, at least.” My attention drifts down to my cast, and despite knowing it will pain me later, I start fiddling with the edge of the cast near my thumb.

“Perhaps. In some ways, I think he just wants what’s best for you, Rocky. He wants to make sure there’s a good head on your shoulders, and outside influences threaten that.”

“Bullshit.” My eyes snap up to his. “Without me, the Irish would have wiped us out because of Noah. We would have had a war on our hands. And we wouldn't even have a line of communication with the Russians if not for me. It’s bringing us the chance of a deal with the hospitals, and that’s because of me and what I’ve done.

And I told my father that, but all he saw was me going behind his back.

He doesn’t see the good I do. He just sees what he wants to. ”

“So you’ve done a lot for this family.”

“Yeah,” I snap. “I really have.”

“And the smaller families would agree with how vocal you’ve been about justice for Belle.”

“Exactly!”

“So tell me.” Domenico leans in suddenly, and for the first time since I’ve known him, the calmness seems absent from his eyes. “Have you got the balls to commit to your choices and fight for what you believe is the way forward for this family? Or are you going to back down?”