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“If you think it was my daughter, show me proof except I’m guessing you have none. What does she have to say about it?” He says, blowing a ring of smoke out.
“She denies it,” I say flatly.
“What does Franco say? He is your consigliere, after all,” he asks knowingly.
“He says it’s inconclusive,” I say irritated.
“So, you reason that since Sophia was previously associated with Chicago, she is therefore the mastermind in all of this. Anton Romanov is dead, and she hasn’t had any contact with Chicago since. I used to have men following her every move,” he says smugly.
“She should have come clean from the start, as you should have.”
“Should, would, could. What do you want, Croccifixio? Are you going to tell New York this information in the middle of a war, will you take a chance and hope it doesn’t backfire on you? They might think you’re the real traitor since you’ve experienced the least loss out of all of us,” he says connivingly.
“I nearly died,” I yell, banging my fist on the desk.
“But you didn’t.” He knows he has me right where he wants me.
“I haven’t told any of the other families, and I don’t intend to.”
“What about Sophia? Are you just going to hold it over my daughter’s head that she made a mistake for the rest of her life?” For the first time, I hear the unmistakable note of parental ire in his voice.
“That wasn’t a mistake, it was a betrayal,” I say as I stand up once again.
“She doesn’t deserve your punishment, Croccifixio. This is my daughter you are talking about.” He narrows his eyes at me.
“I don’t think you have the authority on what I should do with my wife,” I say, returning the icy glare he’s giving me before leaving the room.
I walk out of Paolo’s office feeling incensed but wipe my face of expression when I bump into Gabriella Falcone. I try to give her a warm and endearing smile, but I fear it looks more like a grimace.
“Anna has set up the guest room for you.” Gabriella nods.
“Thank you very much,” I say politely.
“You don’t come around here much, Don De Luca. I think Sophia is getting used to her husband’s absence,” she says, giving me a stern look.
“Work has kept me away. Sophia understands that.”
“Does she?”
“Yes, we are in the middle of a war, and I have to sacrifice my time. When it’s over, I will be able to give her my full attention,” I say with finality in my tone.
“Understandable,” she says, giving me a sideways glance, obviously not believing me.
When I walk into the bedroom, Sophia is at the dressing table applying face cream. I almost balk when I see her. It’s been a long time since we were in such confined quarters together.
“What?” she says, mistaking my discomfort for anger.
“Nothing,” I say frowning.
“I’ll sleep in my old bedroom,” she says heading for the door, but I catch her arm.
“How will that look to your parents?”
“Like you care, Ma was already asking why you don’t come around so often anymore. We’re leading separate lives, they’ll find out eventually.”
“It seems like you’re already used to the idea,” I say annoyed.
“You are the one who wanted this, don’t pretend you are all cut up when you’re sleeping with every socialite in New York.” She seethes.
