Page 33 of The Italian Reckoning (A New York Criminal Empire #3)

ROCKY

“ M y daughter!”

Domenico whips his hands across Matteo’s desk and sends everything from the computer to the expensive crystal drink decanter onto the floor.

“My fucking daughter , Matteo! I’ve put up with a lot of shit from you over the years.

I’ve defended you at every turn, even when I thought you were making a mistake.

I’ve ensured no one speaks ill of you, I’ve given you the best years of my life, and what do I get in return?

” Throwing his hands up in the air, he whips away from the desk and I sidestep quickly to avoid his rampage.

“Domenico—”

“Don’t you fucking dare!” He spins back to my father and points furiously at him. “Look me in the eye and tell me Rocky is wrong, I fucking dare you!”

For the first time in my life, my father looks uncertain. His dark gaze drifts from Domenico to me, then back again, and he presses his lips into a thin line. “I can’t.”

“Exactly!” Domenico turns and slams his foot into the sleek brown coffee table, toppling it over with a crash as several ornaments and ash trays clatter to the ground.

“Not entirely, at least.” Matteo leans forward and places his elbows on the empty desk. “It might not be the same man.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Unable to keep my mouth shut any longer, I step closer to the desk.

“I told you about this bastard. He’s a fucking serial killer, which means he targets the same type of person, and poor Mary fits that bill.

Even with how he attempted to snatch her.

How can you not see how this is linked to Belle? ”

“Because people get kidnapped all the time and not everything is linked like you think it is,” Matteo snaps. “That stupid woman got in your head and now you see connections everywhere!”

“Don’t you dare.” Anger licks around my words.

“Sarah might be a cop but she’s the only one who was actually doing something while you were sitting here behind that fucking desk acting like we’re untouchable.

And even now, you only contemplate doing something because it’s Domenico’s daughter who’s affected!

” I glance over my shoulder at Domenico as he angrily stomps about the office. “No offense.”

“None taken,” he growls through gritted teeth.

“If you had supported my working with Sarah from the start, then this bastard could be behind bars or six feet under and then we wouldn’t have a traumatized girl upstairs!” I yell back at my father.

“How do we know this isn’t something else like Noah, hmm?” My father rises from his seat but keeps one hand on the desk. “First Belle, and now Mary?”

“Because there’s another victim, Kara. And she’s connected to the Irish. Fits the same profile, though, and the club Mary was snatched from isn’t far from where Belle was last seen or where Kara had last been known to be. That fucker has a hunting ground. Not everything is about us!”

“Fuck the Irish,” my father snaps. “You think you have it all figured out, but all I see is your reckless actions bringing us more disaster, Rocky! You’re incapable of understanding anything other than your next thrill!”

“Enough!” Domenico bellows, bringing our bickering to a halt.

He stands in the middle of the room with his shoulders heaving like an angry bull.

“Enough of your bullshit, Matteo. You’re a fucking coward hiding away in this office ever since Noah ran rampant through the city.

A situation you should have handled to smooth things over with the Irish, but no, it was Rocky who stepped up when it became clear that Noah killed Brenden.

The only reason you’re able to hide in this fucking shithole is because of your son.

He sees clearer than you ever have. Look at you!

Even now, with my daughter in tears upstairs fucking traumatized, you refuse to see!

There’s a maniac out there targeting young women and you should have stamped him out the second he harmed Belle.

It doesn’t matter that Gio is from a smaller family.

They’re the fucking foundation of this enterprise and still, you hide.

That kind of disconnect brings empires to their fucking knees.

You have no idea how lucky you are that your son has the backbone to recognize when this family needs help! ”

An eerie silence falls after Domenico’s yelling, so silent that I can hear the distant tick of the grandfather clock down in the foyer.

No one has ever spoken up for me like that before.

In all my years fighting with my father, I thought the things I strove to do went unnoticed by everyone here, but it seems Domenico has been watching. He’s seen everything.

My father’s lips part multiple times but no words come out. He’s like a goldfish searching for an argument that will stand up against Domenico’s rant, but there’s nothing.

“Buck the fuck up,” Domenico snarls. “This family needs a hands-on leader like Rocky, the kind of leader who’s out there building alliances and friendships, helping people and showing strength among our own people so that when shit like this happens, we just need to make one phone call to find the fucker.

Instead, because of you, this fucker’s been running rampant for months and I swear to God if Mary doesn’t recover from this, then I will kill you, Matteo. ”

Furious words spoken in the heat of the moment by a concerned father aren’t to be taken lightly, but it’s still a direct threat against my father, the Don.

Hierarchy dictates that I should step in and reprimand Domenico, but something stops me.

He’s right. And maybe this is the wake up call my father needs.

The fury of his best friend putting him right in the crosshairs.

“Domenico,” Matteo says finally. “You know I would never intentionally put your family in harm's way.”

“Well, you did,” he snarls. “Because you were too pigheaded to listen to your son.” Domenico drags one hand through his silver hair, then waves his other hand as if shoving something away.

“Fuck this. I need to care for Mary.” Domenico storms out of the room, slamming the door forcefully as he exits.

I stand facing my father with my knee jumping back and forth. Nervous energy thrums through me like an electrical charge and my mind becomes an overwhelming jumble.

Do I apologize? Do I talk to him? Do I blame him? Should I stand up for him and be a good son? Should I walk away? What do I say? What do I do? What’s the safest option here?

“I would never intentionally bring harm to Mary,” Matteo says after a moment. “I hope he knows that.”

For the first time in his life, my father looks small. Without all the fancy clutter on his desk or a guard by his side, he’s just a man standing in front of a window with no way to defend his actions. His eyes lift to mine and he looks as if he’s expecting me to comfort him.

In the past, I would. Fear would drive me to soothe him and make sure I wasn’t on the receiving end of his wrath.

But not this time.

“Your inaction caused this,” I say quietly.

“I asked Mary to sketch out a drawing of the man who took her. When she’s done, I’m taking it to Sarah to see if she can get a hit in her database.

” In truth, I’m hoping the picture will trigger her buried memories and everything she’s forgotten will come back to her. Then we’ll finally nail this guy.

“Fine,” Matteo says and he drops heavily into his leather chair. “Fine.”

I find Domenico upstairs with his arms wrapped tightly around his daughter. She clutches at him and sobs against his shoulder, sobs that ease when the floorboards creak under my feet.

“Sorry,” I say when they move apart, although Domenico keeps his hand on his daughter's shoulder. “How are you doing?”

Mary looks at me with large doe eyes and hastily buries her nose in a tissue. “I–I keep scolding myself for going to the club,” she murmurs thickly through her tears, and as they well up again, Domenico pulls her close.

“Don’t,” he says, his voice thick. “This is not your fault. None of this is your fault.”

“I hate to bring it up,” I say cautiously, wringing my hands together as my heart rate picks up. I don’t want to be on the receiving end of Domenico’s wrath, but it’s been a few hours since I called Sarah and I can’t keep her waiting forever. “Can you tell me what happened? What exactly happened?”

Domenico’s eyes narrow to slits, but Mary pulls back from him and nods. “Dad said you’re gonna get your detective friend to help, right?”

“That’s right.”

She sniffles and sits down on a nearby chair and picks up a sheet of paper.

“I was running late and I took a shortcut,” she says, her voice raspy.

“And I got hit over the head and then I woke up in the back of a car. I was on the floor so I pulled myself up onto the backseat. He’d bound my wrists but it wasn’t that strong.

The string was easy to wriggle off, and I could hear voices.

” As she speaks, her voice grows distant as if she’s reliving the events in real time.

“They were arguing. One guy was talking about how it wasn’t his fault, that the car had swerved and that the other guy was an asshole for driving with his lights off.

They started fighting, and I got out of the car and I ran.

And then I heard a gun go off and I screamed and he?—”

Tears pour down her cheeks, and she presses her face into her crumpled tissues. Domenico moves to sit next to her and cuddles her close.

“He tackled me and we fell, and then I just started fighting. I kicked and I scratched and I bit, I did everything I could think of, and then we were face to face so I tried to claw his eyes out, and then the other driver was there. Blood was pouring from the side of his neck and he dragged the asshole off me and told me to run. So I did. I ran. And I didn’t stop until I made it to a restaurant and they called the cops. ”

Shit.

My heart breaks listening to the fear and upset in her words while the horrific story unfolds, and it amplifies the urge deep inside me to ensure we catch the fucker. For her. For Sarah. For everyone.

“And you drew him?” I ask softly.

“B–Best I could.” She sniffles and shakily hands me a drawing. It’s a decent pencil sketch of a man with a thick beard and narrow eyes. She even drew the scratches she left down the left hand side of his face.

“This is him?”

She nods quickly. “Is it enough?”

“You have no idea how great this is.” Flashing a warm smile, I glance at Domenico. “I need to get this to Sarah.”

“Let me come,” Domenico says tightly. “I want to talk to her myself.”

“I was going to bring her here.”

“But her evidence is in her apartment, correct? I want to look at it.”

Nodding, I stand and briefly glance back at Mary. “Are you sure you want to? I can bring her evidence with me.”

Domenico shakes his head and kisses the top of Mary’s. “I’ll be back soon, sweetheart. I promise.” She nods repeatedly and murmurs something I can’t hear. Domenico kisses the top of her head once more and stands. “Let’s go.”

Out in the hall, he releases a sigh so loud it’s like he was holding it the entire time.

“You good?”

He narrows his eyes at me as we walk down the stairs. “The fuck kind of question is that?”

“I’m not asking how you feel. I need to make sure you’re not about to tornado into Sarah’s apartment and scare her. She went through what Mary went through, y’know, only he got his hands on her for six fucking days. I don’t need you scaring her, understand?”

Domenico’s brows lift briefly, then he nods. “I won’t scare her.”

“You'd better not,” I mutter, “or we’ll have a problem.”

“At odds with both of the Baratis,” Domenico mutters. “What a surprise.”

“At least we’re on the same side,” I say as we stride into the garage. “This picture could be exactly what we?—”

I stop dead and Domenico walks smack into my back. “The hell?”

My heart plummets down into my gut. “Where the fuck is my bike?”