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“I doubt he thought you’d let Kat live,” Maximo says. “It’s not exactly been in your nature to show mercy.”
“I don’t go around killing innocent women though, Max,” I say with a scowl.
“That’s not what he thinks.”
I run a hand through my hair in exasperation. It feels like the answer is staring me in the face, but I can’t quite reach it. “At least now I know why he was so pissed when I brought her to the house.”
“And why he suggested you kill her when she got pregnant.”
“Kill her or marry her,” I remind him.
“Kind of two ends of the spectrum.” Maximo laughs darkly as he takes a swig of his bourbon.
“Kill her or make her one of us? She knows something, Maximo.”
“I thought you said she had no idea what was going on?”
“I don’t think she knows what she knows though. Or she saw something and she doesn’t understand that it means something?”
“What could it be that would make him go to these lengths though? Why not just tell you what the fuck was going on?”
“Because whatever it is, must be something I wouldn’t let slide. And as much as I despise the man, when it comes to business, I can only think of one thing we have ever disagreed on so strongly that he would go to these lengths to hide it from me,” I snarl as more pieces start slotting into place.
“The Santangelos?” Maximo says with a deep sigh. “I thought all that fucked up shit was dealt with a long time ago.”
“Maybe it was?” I say, wanting to believe that even after everything he’s ever done, my father is not involved in what I think he is.
“You want me to come with you?” he asks. As soon as we land in Chicago, visiting my father is my priority.
“No. I need to handle this myself.”
“Lorenzo?”
“He doesn’t need to know. Not until it’s done.”
“Whatever you say, D.”
* * *
It’sevening by the time I arrive at my father’s house. I waited until after seven when I know his housekeeper will have left for the day before I let myself in using a spare key he gave me when he first bought the place. He has two armed guards. I don’t know them. That will certainly make it easier to shoot both of them in the head before I leave.
They smile at me when they see me walking down the hallway. I rarely visit him here, but I’m Sal’s son. I mean him no harm, surely. One of them is about to take a bite out of a meatball sub, but they both stop and make small talk about the weather and the Bulls.
“Where is my pop?” I ask.
“In the den. Watching TV,” the one with the sub replies.
“He alone?”
“Yup.”
“Thanks,” I say before heading off toward the den.
He’s sitting with his feet up on the sofa and a glass of cognac in his hand when I walk into the room.
“Hey, Pop,” I say with a forced smile.
“Dante?” He turns off the TV with the remote. “What are you doing here?”
