Page 45 of Savage Don

“But do you have enough to bury your daughter?”

Stepping aside, I anticipate Domenico’s reaction. With murder in his eyes, he lunges across his desk, fists raised.

But before he can get too far, Silvio has jumped in front of him.

“Sir, no!”

“How dare he,” Domenico rumbles. “How dare you!”

“Despite what you might think, I’m not here to rub dirt in your wounds,” I sneer, clenching my fists, just in case one of Domenico’s goons decides he wants to try and impress his boss.

“Then what are you here for?”

“I’m here to help.”

“Help?”

Pulling himself back behind his desk, Domenico attempts to fix his loose tie. But it’s no use. The man is a mess.

Just like I wanted.

“That’s right, I want to help.”

“Help with what?”

“Don’t be daft, Domenico. I’m here to help you find Francesca.”

“Why?”

Slamming my fists down on his desk, it’s my turn to unload some fury—even if it is mostly for show. “Because it doesn’t look good when I can’t protect my underlings… or their families. Does that make sense to you?”

Domenico is practically shaking as he forces himself to turn away from me. His tall, beefy silhouette stands against the light seeping in through his office window as he tries to calm himself down.

“And how are you going to help?” he finally manages to grumble.

“By finding her.”

“Is that what you’re doing here?” he asks, turning around to face me again. “Because I can tell you with confidence, she’s not here. My home is usually not this messy. I’ve turned it upside down looking for that girl.”

He could have fooled me.

“I’m here to investigate her disappearance,” I lie.

“Oh, you’re a detective all of a sudden?”

“Careful now, Domenico,” I growl. “Don’t forget who I am. Don’t forget what I can do.”

My reminder is well served, even if it seems like a piece of Domenico dies as he realizes that he’s truly powerless against me.

“Well, then, by all means, investigate away,” he finally sighs. “Clearly, she’s not in here. So, you can cross my office off of your list.”

“Already have,” I nod, enjoying beyond belief how obvious his hate is. Domenico detests the Irish, yet here he is, at his most vulnerable, groveling to one that used to be a street rat.

Oh, how far the Italians have fallen. And how high the Irish have risen.

“I can escort you around the property, Mr. Byrne,” Silvio offers, when the silence becomes too much for him. “If that’s alright?”

That question is clearly directed more towards Domenico than it is towards me. The disgraced Italian don only manages to grunt his approval. But that’s enough for Silvio.