Page 152 of The Don’s Omega

“Carlo’s lying, right?” Salvatore whispers.

I don’t respond, avoiding his gaze.

“Marcello,” Salvatore says. “Look at me. Is Carlo lying or not?”

I exhale harshly. “What does it matter?”

“Of course it matters,” he hisses. “Tell me. Tell me the truth. Did my son volunteer to take Adriano’s place?”

I force myself to meet his gaze. “Carlo’s right. If you want answers, ask Annetta. You won’t believe anything I say anyway, but you might believe your own daughter.”

“So that’s a yes?” he mutters, looking stricken.

Gritting my teeth, I say nothing.

Salvatore’s face crumples. He covers his face and his shoulders shake as sobs shudder through him. “Why would he do that?” he cries through his tears. “Why? Why?”

I don’t know if he’s referring to what Cristiano did or the lie my father told. I only know he’s crumbling before my eyes, and it’s hard to watch. Torturing men to death is easier than watching a grieving father sob for his dead son.

Killing him would be doing him a favor at this point, but after seeing how beat up Elio was, I don’t feel like doing him any favors. I also don’t really want to spill his blood. I just want to go to Elio. This whole situation makes me sick. Salvatore has wasted years of his life hating my family for something we didn’t do.

My father had thought that by keeping the truth from Salvatore and giving him someone else to blame, he could preserve Cristiano’s memory and give his old friend some peace. What he hadn’t anticipated was that Salvatore’s resentment would fester and eventually turn against us to the point where he’d seek revenge. The lie meant to spare Salvatore’s feelings had almost cost Elio and our unborn baby their lives.

Once Salvatore’s sobs quiet, I stand, my chair scraping over the concrete floor. Salvatore’s hands drop to his lap, and he stares up at me, eyes bloodshot and mouth slack. He looks destroyed. Everything he thought he knew has been obliterated. On top of the loss of his son, he now knows he was one reason Cristiano volunteered to take Adriano’s place in prison. It’s impossible not to pity him.

“I’m angry enough to kill you for what you did to Elio,” I say harshly. “But the truth is, my father set this disaster in motion by trying to spare your feelings. I could punish you, sure, but you’re already being tortured because you’ve lost your son. I don’t think you’ll ever heal from that loss. Your life seems hellish enough without me lifting a finger against you.”

Carlo shifts uneasily, but says nothing.

Salvatore drops his head and his hands tremble on his knees. “I don’t deserve your mercy,” he whispers.

“No, you don’t.” I grit my teeth. “But I’m giving it to you anyway. I believe that’s what my father would have wanted. Regardless of what you thought of him, he loved you like a brother.”

He grimaces and shame flutters over his somber features.

I narrow my eyes and rumble, “But know this, Salvatore.” He glances up. “If you had killed Elio, there would be no mercy for you.”

His eyes flicker but he doesn’t speak.

I look at Carlo. “Drive him home.”

Carlo raises an eyebrow but says nothing.

I walk out of the warehouse ahead of them, without a glance back.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Elio

I open my eyes and find that I’m in Marcello’s room. Our room, actually. Confused, I take in the ceiling with the crown molding. Gray morning light filters in through a crack in the curtains. Then the memory of the fight in Salvatore’s home comes rushing back. I sit up, gasping and find Marcello beside me on the bed. He’s fully dressed and sitting against the headboard, watching me.

“Elio, it’s okay,” he says softly, putting his hand on my arm.

“Was it all a dream?” I ask, blinking at him. My last memory is of Turi assaulting me at Salvatore’s home. Was none of that real? Am I losing my mind? How can Marcello be here? He’s supposed to be out of town.

Marcello’s eyes are dark and full of concern, and his fingers tighten on my arm. “It wasn’t a dream, but you’re safe, Elio. It’s okay.”

“The baby,” I rasp in panic, holding my stomach.