AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I fight the urge to break up the silence, though. He needs to make a choice once and for all.
And then, finally, he speaks.
“My father did not protect my mother,” he says, his voice low as he stares out the windshield. “I watched him mourn her. Watched the man cry and repent. Do you know what it’s like to see a man who, to you, is larger than God cry like that? We went to church every Sunday until I was 18, and he lit a candle for her. In my eyes, he was a good fucking man. A flawed man but good. My grandfather had raised him well, teaching him about the family, about the importance of community. I thought he was the same.” He switches lanes, forgoing his blinker.
“But then it happened again when he let my brother take the fall. Both of their names were on the documents the feds had tying them to that pump and dump scheme, and Tony went down for it. He didn’t even try to save his own son. Washed his hands of him and kept going. Maybe that was when I should have stopped believing in him. Believing he was a good man.”
“Dante,” I whisper, because I think at this moment, during this car ride, in the last hour, he’s come to some kind of life-altering realization. It’s like I’m watching his childhood crash down around him, that moment when you realize someone you looked up to might not be that great.
And I'm the catalyst.
“But then it was just Paulie and me. When Tony went away, I knew that we—the family—were going down a bad path. An attempt to break into the drugs went awry, and, thankfully, my father backed off, pushing further into the things he knew: gambling, protection, schemes, loans . . . whatever it took to make more money, to feed the greed.
“The family . . . I don’t like where it’s going, Delilah. I knew for a while, but when everything happened with your sister, when I realized we were allowing political figures to use their children as fucking collateral . . . It’s not who we are. Not who we were meant to be. I’m not going to lie and say that the Carluccios are shining members of society. We’re not. But that? No. No fucking way. I thought after what happened with Tony . . .” He sighs again.
“The club was my way to offer an avenue of legitimacy. Give my father an example of what we could do. I couldn’t take over and insist we back out of the worst of the shady shit instantly. It would be fucking mutiny. The men are used to making certain money and having a certain level of power. I needed a proof of concept that a safer way of life could still give them what they wanted. We could funnel some of our efforts into creating a luxury brand of clubs where not only men come, but women wanted to as well. It might be profitable enough to ease us into the light. We’d treat the girls right and keep them safe. We’ll never be fully out of the bread and butter—the gambling and the loans and the schemes—but we’ll just be . . . something more.” He turns his head to me, the overhead lights on the highway flickering on his face, and in the dim lighting, I can see it. The remorse. The shame. The fear.
“I want kids, and I want to be around to see them. I don’t want them visiting me in prison, adding money to a card to call me on Christmas.”
He stops speaking like that’s enough, like that’s all he’s going to say.
And really, it’s more than I knew before.
But still . . . I want more. I want it all. If this is going forward, I can’t keep getting scraps.
“Where do I fit in with this?”
“You’re everywhere, Delilah,” he says, and I stare at his profile as he drives.
“Explain.”
“I heard you were working for me, that Paulie gave you a deal and you were paying off your father’s debts, and I knew two things. One, my dumb fucking nephew was blinded by beauty, had no idea who you were other than a mayor’s daughter, and definitely had no clue what you truly wanted. Two, he had bigger plans for you.” The drunken conversation comes to mind. “Yes, beautiful. You were to be a proof of concept. We’re in battle, Paulie and me. My father . . . Up until recently, I believed he was good, started with my grandfather’s influence, helping the community, but got sidetracked. I thought . . . I don’t know. He’s my father.”
“I get that, Dante,” I say, knowing that my image of Shane has been greatly skewed in the last year.
“I should have seen it,” he says, staring at the highway. “Seen him turn sour. God, he’s spent the last five years pitting Paulie and me against each other, trying to make us prove we’re the best choice as heir to the family.”
“Do you want that? To be the Don?” I ask, even though I don’t want to interrupt story time. I feel like this, though . . . This I need to know.
“No. Yes. Fuck, I don’t know, Lilah. Not for power or for money. But because it’s . . . God, it’s my right. It’s my family. There are people that rely on us, good men. The community.” He sighs. It’s strangely a relief having him driving while we have this conversation—a distraction from his searing gaze granting me the ability to think straight. “But lately, I’ve been seeing it differently.”
“Different how?”
“I don’t want to rule—not alone, at least.” I don’t respond. “You and I . . . we could change everything, Delilah. The Russos and the Carluccios working together, ruling together?”
“I don’t want to be some kind of pretty trophy to sit on a throne with you.”
“If you need me to be the trophy, I will be,” he says instantly. “You want me to sit back and watch you be fucking gorgeous and all-consuming, it’s done. But I was thinking we could be a team.”
“Merge the families.”
Silence takes over the car when I can’t figure out how to respond, and I watch Dante. I watch his face move through emotions and thoughts and plans as he tries to figure out what to say.
“Why didn’t you take this to your grandfather?” he asks, finally breaking the silence.
I don’t expect the question.
“What?”
