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The first man, Antonio Santa Maria, signed the contract. Antonio was a cousin, distant but powerful. His allegiance to my father had never been questioned. His sons, Gregorio and Giovanni, both in their late twenties, flanked him.
“Your father was a good friend. My loyalties have not before and will not now waver,” Antonio pledged.
“Thank you, Antonio,” I said. I turned to each of the sons and shook their hands, met their eyes, and nodded once. I wondered if they would remain allies or become enemies one day.
They walked out of the room.
The next man approached. Then the next. Each of them pledged allegiance. Each man signed. I took note of those who glanced in the direction of my uncle. These men knew to refuse to sign meant their death. I had no doubt Roman had supporters among them. No doubt they planned mutiny. But today, I would send a message. Today, my first day as head of the Benedetti family, I would send a very clear message.
Finally, almost an hour later, all the contracts were signed and only the attorney, four soldiers, Salvatore, Roman, and I remained.
The attorney packed up his papers, each of the contracts placed neatly into his briefcase. He then turned to me.
“I hope we will continue to work together, Mr. Benedetti,” he said, extending his hand. “I look forward to being of service to the son of my friend.”
Friend. Funny. But he was loyal. I extended my hand and shook his.
“Thank you, Mr. Marino. I’ll be in touch soon.”
He glanced once at Roman, then, without acknowledgment, moved toward the door, shook hands with Salvatore, and left.
“Make sure the house is cleared of guests,” I told one of the men, my gaze falling on Roman.
“Yes, Sir.”
“I want Gia in here.”
“Do you think that’s a good idea?” Salvatore asked.
“Get her for me, brother.”
Salvatore’s disapproval clear on his face, he walked out the door and returned a few moments later with Gia at his side.
She looked at the assembled men, her face betraying no emotion to those who did not know her. But I knew her. And I felt it coming off her.
She stood at the wall near the door by Salvatore’s side.
I opened my father’s top right-hand desk drawer. I’d been through it before, a hundred times, and I knew where he kept his pistol. Taking it out, I stood. I found the silencer deeper in the drawer and attached it to the barrel of the gun. I did this with a strange sense of calm, of peace. Like finally, for the first fucking time in my life, it was right. I was right.
Salvatore questioning whether bringing Gia in here was a good idea was a valid one, but she needed to see this. She needed to see justice for her brother, for herself. But she also needed to see me for who I was. I was not good. I would never be good. She needed to have no reservations, no hopes, no illusions. That last part, it was strange, but I knew who I was now. The clarity of it, of all of it, was undeniable. And Gia was part of that clarity. I knew what I wanted, and she was it. But I owed her truth, and what she’d witness today would be an absolute truth.
“Dominic—”
Roman started talking when I moved to the side of the desk and stood leaning against it, facing him.
“Silence, Uncle.”
The guard behind him placed his hand back on Roman’s shoulder.
Power. Fuck. A surge of it pumped blood through my veins.
“You hired Jake Sapienti to assassinate Sergio.”
Roman flinched.
“Did he know who Sergio was? Did he know the mark?”
It took Roman a moment, but the cocking of my gun got his lips moving. “No. He only knew the license plate of the car. He felt…remorse…when he found out who he’d killed.”
“But you didn’t.” My uncle sat silent. “You would have killed Salvatore that same day had he been where he was supposed to be. You wormed your way into the heart of the Benedetti family to take what did not belong to you.”
“Dominic, you and I, we’re real family—”
I shook my head. “You are a traitor, Uncle.” Distaste curled my lip. “You betrayed my father. You took his trust, his confidence, his friendship—he believed you to be his one true friend, but you never were anyone’s friend, were you?”
“It’s not—”
“You had his beloved son, your own nephew, murdered. Shot down like a fucking dog.” A hot rage fired my words, and my chest tightened. “You used Sapienti to assassinate him. Why? Why would you do that? Why hammer another nail into an already sealed coffin? Why?”
“It was a mistake, Dominic. Just a mistake.”
“You don’t make mistakes. I know that.” I paused, checking the chamber of the gun.
“Please, Dominic—”
“Where did your balls go, Uncle?” I looked at everyone assembled in the room. “What the fuck happens to these ‘powerful’ men when they sit facing the barrel of the gun rather than cocking it in the face of their enemy?”
