Page 50 of Where Quiet Hearts Scream (Dark Hearts #3)

A ndreas

The late-fall sunlight is dipping behind leafless branches by the time I turn the car into the drive.

I glance over at my wife asleep in the passenger seat, her fingers loosely curled in her lap.

My hearts squeezes even tighter for her.

Just as she’s getting somewhere with her recovery, just as she’s coming to terms with the grief of losing her mother, her father goes and marries again.

Not that it wasn’t time. Tony Castellano dedicated eight years to raising four daughters almost single-handedly.

Now that three of them are old enough to vote and the fourth is nipping at their heels, he deserves to find his own happiness.

But my wife is the only one I truly care about, and I hate to see her have to navigate this setback.

I, for one, am glad to be back in Boston.

New York is always a little too much. Too loud, too public.

And now that we’ve finally conquered the gangs, put a bullet into the last piece of the puzzle, and gained government approval to build my fortress, I need to be here, in the city that is finally mine.

I pull up to the side of the house and cut the engine. I look up at the building I call home and feel a thrill beneath my skin. I’ve had plenty of houses and apartments before this one, but none have ever felt like home.

I gave Viola a few days off. She fought me, not wanting to leave Serafina, and insisting that looking out for my wife wasn’t ‘work’ for her—that she’d do it for free.

But I insisted. She puts her heart and soul into everything she does for me and I can see the burnout creeping into the lines on her face.

So, the house is still and silent. No lights on.

No movement. Just the slow pulse of dusk rising over Massachusetts.

Then something shifts in the shadows and a silhouette appears on the front steps.

I blink, sure that I’m hallucinating. This is what happened in Washington.

I kept thinking I was seeing my father around every corner, but it was always a mirage.

Someone with the same jet black, wiry hair.

Someone with the familiar lopsided, calculating grin.

Someone with the same skinny frame and penchant for a cheap, ill-fitting suit.

But then the figure stands, slowly, like a man unfolding himself after years underground.

Sera stirs beside me and lifts her head.

“Are we?— ”

She stops mid-sentence when she sees him too.

I open the car door and step out, my feet moving before my brain can intervene. The closer I get to the figure, the more impossible it becomes.

“Leonardo.” He sways on old bones and rests a hand on the stone wall outside the house.

I stop a couple yards away from him. “You’re dead,” I say, simply.

The old man smiles, revealing brown, nicotine-stained teeth. “Not quite.”

I give a small shake of my head, a silent ‘no’ throbbing inside my throat. “You were buried after a bust went wrong in the Bronx.”

He laughs—a low bitter cackle. “That’s what we wanted everyone to believe. It was Aldo’s idea. A genius one if you ask me.”

A lead weight settles in the pit of my stomach. My inner child is begging me to step back, to run, to find shelter. I gently push him to one side and let the adult grit in my voice surface. “So, where have you been?”

“Around. Here of course, New York, Philly… Washington .”

My heart thumps angrily. “So, it was you at the Cosmos?”

“Yes, son. I had to see for myself the man you’ve become. The man who had no issues killing the uncle who helped raise you.”

“Aldo didn’t raise me and neither did you. I am not your son. ”

“It’s right there on your birth certificate, Leo Junior.”

I resist the urge to throw up. “That isn’t my name. How did you find me?”

“Through Benito of course. You are not the only one who kept an eye on him all these years. I knew who he was working with. I was the one who gave him to the Di Santo’s.

And now look at him—practically running their outfit.

When he formed an alliance with some Corioni kid, that got my attention.

It didn’t take much digging to find out who you were.

Then when photos appeared of you and Grayson in the Globe , you could have heard my cheers in Florida. ”

“My success is no reflection on you,” I say with a barely concealed snarl. “I owe you nothing. Everything I learned, I learned in spite of you, not because of.”

“Look…” The man takes a step toward me and I stand my ground, not moving an inch, just glaring down at him like he’s a piece of shit that rolled onto my property in the wind. “I didn’t come here to fight with you. Look at me. I’m getting old.”

I hear the car door close softly behind me and gentle footsteps on the gravel. Sera reaches my side and slips her warm hand into mine.

Leo Senior’s gaze slides to her and his lips curl. “You have a wife now. A beautiful Castellano girl.”

The fuck? How much digging did he actually do? His knowledge of who my wife is makes my blood run cold.

“Believe or not, I want a family. ”

I tip my head a fraction. I did not hear that correctly.

“Not more kids of my own of course,” he says, revealing more stained teeth with his dark chuckle. “But I’ve realized these last few years what’s important. It isn’t money, it isn’t power or notoriety.”

Not that you’ve managed to gain any of those things, I think.

“It’s family. It’s seeing the fruits of your labor—wives, husbands, grandkids. I’ve missed out all these years and I know it’s my own fault. I’ve come here for forgiveness. I want you to forgive me, Andreas, and allow me back into your life.”

Sera stands beside me like a comforting support, not saying a word but holding my hand firmly. She trusts whatever I’m about to do.

“If you realized this in the last few years and you always knew where Benito was, why didn’t you make your approach sooner?”

He shrugs. “I thought you were dead. If you’d died after running away from home, Benito would have killed me at first sight. It was only when I discovered your new identity I felt able to come here.”

“And why here? Why not visit Benito first?”

His shoulders drop and I see the energy drain from his person. “Because you’re my first-born. Benito always idolized you. I knew if I could win you over, Benito would bend more willingly.”

“And if I refuse to be ‘won over?’”

He inhales a scratchy breath. “I’ll make him aware of my existence, but I won’t expect him to go against his older brother.”

“Benito is an intelligent man,” I say, frowning, “He has a mind of his own. That’s not the reason you came to me first. You came here because I got rid of your outfit—I disbanded the gangs. You came here because I now rule Boston.”

“I don’t blame you for being paranoid, son. No doubt this is what got you so far.”

I grind my teeth. I want to correct him again but I also don’t want to give him the pleasure of seeing how much his references to our unfortunate blood connection are winding me the hell up.

“Ajello was the face of the gangs,” I say, my eyes narrowing. “Your name didn’t come up once. Where were you?”

Only one corner of his mouth lifts, giving him the eerie appearance of a demented, psychopathic clown.

“Oh, I was there. I just hid in various basements. How do you think we ruled south Boston for so long? Me. I orchestrated all our moves from underground—literally. They even had a nickname for me, the cops—the mole. I’m proud of that one. ”

I want to wipe the smugness of his face but information is valuable and I want as much of it as I can stand to gather.

“I moved those gangs around like a board game, pitting one against another, keeping their influence down through sheer infighting. They fought each other, often to the death, and my name never came up once. ”

My spine stiffens. I don’t like where this is leading.

“Andreas, you see… the chaos that let you take down the gangs and rise to the top? I created that. I am the one behind your new-found fame and fortune. I am the one who buttered up your little friend Olsson. I am the one who paved the way for that all-important signature.”

My nostrils flair with complete and utter hatred. He’s lying. He’s always thought he was bigger, better, wiser than everyone else. The man is a total narcissist. Me and Arrow fought those gangs for years with our bare hands. There was no infighting, just standard petty boundary wars.

“So, don’t you think you owe your Papa some thanks? If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t be sitting so pretty in this beautiful house of yours.”

He’s delusional. Money from gangland quarrels isn’t what bought this house—the years of dealing devices on the black market bought me this house.

Saliva fills my mouth. I could end his life right now.

I could rip the last breath from his lungs with as much ease as whipping candy from a kid.

Every bone in my body is braced to do exactly that, but I owe it to Benito to wait.

I squeeze Sera’s hand.

“You’ve given me some food for thought,” I say, calmly. “Now, if you don’t mind, I want to get my wife inside. We’ve had a tiring few days.”

His eyes widen hopefully.

“It’s a little soon to be inviting you inside. This is a lot to take in. I’m sure you understand. ”

He turns, the bones in his shoulder protruding from a lack of decent nourishment and years of alcohol abuse no doubt. “You won’t ever invite me in, will you?”

I look into his cold, bitter eyes and I can’t bring myself to lie. “No. I don’t think I will.”

He laughs, sardonically. “I don’t give up that easily, Andreas.”

I tip my head back a touch. “Clearly.”

He takes a step toward me and Sera grips my hand, the first sign she’s given me that she’s afraid.

“I’d like you to leave our property,” I say, firmly, before turning toward the front steps.

His eyes narrow to slits and I finally see the face that haunted my dreams, from childhood until my twenties.

“You think you’re free of me…” he says, through thinned lips and gritted teeth.

“You think you did all of this by yourself.” He laughs again, a bitter, twisted jeer.

“I taught you everything you know. You didn’t become the king of Boston, son.

You became me . Everything you are… I built.

It doesn’t matter who rules this city, my boy. I own you.”

I stop mid-stride and face him square. “You are deluded, old man,” I spit. “You didn’t teach me everything you know, but you are right about one thing. You built something. A weapon. Now get the hell off my property before I turn my barrel toward you and blow your fucking head off.”