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“Everything,” Vincent said. “Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about.”
Salvatore stared at Vincent with disbelief, but whether he was truly dumbfounded or just shocked at being called out wasn’t clear. Carmine’s heart beat rapidly as his eyes darted between the silent men. All of them were on edge, shoulders squared, poised for a fight.
“Go inside, son,” Vincent said. “I’d like to speak to your godfather alone.”
Pushing his chair back, Carmine started to stand when Salvatore slammed his fists down on the table in front of them. “Stay where you are!”
Carmine knew he couldn’t disregard a direct order from the Boss. Glancing at his father, he shot him an apologetic look as he forced himself back into the chair.
Panic flared in Vincent’s expression, and Carmine knew it then. Whatever was about to happen was not going to be good.
“I still fail to see what the Antonelli child has to do with anything,” Salvatore said, turning his attention back to Vincent. “Enlighten me.”
“Are you aware she’s an artist?”
“I couldn’t care less what she is,” Sal said. “She’s nothing to me.”
“Of course you know she’s an artist,” Vincent continued, ignoring his hostility. “In fact, you know a lot about her, more than you’d ever admit, including the fact that she’s not nothing to you.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sal said. “She’ll never be anything more than a slave in my eyes, a worthless piece of flesh you idiots waste your life on. She’s irrelevant in my world. She shouldn’t even exist!”
Carmine flinched as irritation flashed across his father’s face.
“You know, it didn’t make sense at the time,” Vincent said. “I never understood why Frankie refused to give her up, why he wouldn’t let her go when he wanted nothing to do with the girl. She was a burden, another mouth to feed, so why not take the cash to be rid of her?”
“She was his granddaughter,” Salvatore said pointedly. “You know that.”
“That didn’t matter to him,” Vincent retorted. “His son getting a slave pregnant would’ve been a disgrace in his eyes, tainting his bloodline—he would’ve wanted to be rid of the child. So why did he not only keep her but kill over her, too?”
“He didn’t want anyone to find out.”
“Yeah, that’s what you told me.” Vincent shook his head. “I believed it for years because I didn’t think you’d lie to me and you told me you were sure. I slaughtered him and his wife, and then I put my gun to that girl’s head as she slept and pulled the trigger, because you swore she was the reason my wife died. And that’s exactly what you wanted, wasn’t it? You used my grief to solve your problem, and it almost worked. If my gun hadn’t jammed, I would’ve killed everything there that breathed.”
“I didn’t tell you to kill any of them.”
“You didn’t have to! You knew exactly what I would do with the information you fed me, and you gave me just enough time to do it before calling me in.”
“I would’ve never ordered a hit on a child!”
“Because you can’t! The men wouldn’t have trusted you anymore if they even suspected you had anything to do with it. There would’ve been a mutiny! But you knew how to push my buttons, how to get me to react. You wanted them all dead and you used me so you could keep your hands clean.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Salvatore said. “Why would I want them dead?”
“Evidence,” Vincent said. “Never leave anything behind if it can be linked to you. It’s simple, something all of us know. The moment you realized your mistake, you wanted it disposed of.”
“What evidence?”
“The girl’s bloodline.”
Panic swept across Salvatore’s face. Carmine stared at him in shock, realizing he wasn’t surprised . . . he did know. Confusion rocked Carmine’s brain, the knowledge nearly crippling him. The entire time, through it all, Salvatore knew they were related.
“You’re crazy.”
“Maybe so, but I’m still right,” Vincent said. “All it took was a simple prick of a finger and a lifetime of secrets came spilling out in the blood.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I once believed that. I thought you were as much a victim as her, but that changed when she was kidnapped. You wouldn’t get involved because you knew why they took her and you wanted nothing to do with it! You were afraid they’d expose you and you thought . . . you hoped . . . they’d get rid of her. But they didn’t.
