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Nothing had changed.
Paulie took his place beside our father and leaned over to look at each of us. “Vincenzo is amenable to negotiation. I think we can come to an arrangement that benefits both families.”
“Agreed.” Dad sipped from his glass, eyeing his advisor from beneath his dark brows. “The marriage between Dante and Vittoria is a much better solution to war.”
“You mean Ava, Papa,” Angelo corrected.
“Huh?” He turned to look at Angelo. “Didn’t I say that?”
“No.” Angelo sighed. “You said Vittoria.”
In his old age, our dad was getting softer. He wasn’t interested in feuding with the other crime families in the city. Salvatore Luciano used to be a man people feared. And lately, he was becoming a different man.
Forgetful.
Weak.
That wasn’t good for business.
If our enemies knew about his sudden memory loss, they would use it against us. So we had to present a solid, unified front. Either Paulie or I would do most of the talking.
Paulie tapped my dad on his arm. “It’s okay, Sal. I’ll handle the negotiations.”
I raised my arm to check my watch. The Vitales should have arrived five minutes ago. They were fucking late.
I valued punctuality.
Those bastards were disrespecting us by making us wait. And after ten more minutes, the mood shifted. Angelo was getting antsy and drinking too much. Stefan played a game on his cell phone like a bored child.
“I’m done waiting,” Dad said with anger in his tone. “No more negotiations.”
A group of men in suits stormed into the dining room, wearing bandanas over their noses and mouths. The front door slammed behind them, bringing with them the summer heat.
“What the fuck?” Angelo grunted.
“Paulie, move,” my dad shouted, since his advisor was the reason we couldn’t get out from the table.
He didn’t budge.
It was a setup.
Fuck.
I reached for my gun holstered on my chest. My brothers and father did the same. But before I could point and shoot, a bullet hit my chest. And then another. Pain tore through my body, spreading down my arms and back.
A bullet hit my father, tearing into his shoulder before one hit him in the chest. Angelo and Stefan ducked, holding up the table to shield us.
I pointed my gun over the top of the table and got off a round, shooting at anything that moved. Bullets sailed past my head and sank into the leather booth behind me.
Dad slumped to the side, clutching his chest. “Dante,” he muttered, his eyes meeting mine, barely open.
I was in so much pain that it hurt to put my hand on his shoulder as he took his last breath.
No.
My eyelids fluttered, the pain taking over, making it impossible to stay awake. I blinked a few times and splayed my fingers over the bullet wounds on my chest. Blood bloomed through the white dress shirt, dripping onto my fingers and leaking onto the bench.
“I told you they would fall for it,” Paulie said.
