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With a snort, he drops his gaze and shakes his head, stuffing his gun back into its holster, and my muscles finally settle for the first time in the last ten minutes. “I don’t need his money.”
“Well, let’s see. My father never had friends, only enemies. And you don’t strike me as the type who volunteers his time to help the sick and dying. So, what’s your purpose? What is he to you?”
“Same as what he is to you.”
Frowning, I rewind his words in search of clarity. “How so?”
“He’s my father.”
A burst of a laugh escapes me in my effort to understand what he just said. “Your father.” It shouldn’t surprise me, really. Good ol’ Pops certainly didn’t wait for my mother to pass before indulging in other women. I often heard her accuse him of infidelity during their many heated arguments as a kid, but he never once mentioned so much as the possibility of a brother to me.
“So, you are here to clean him out.”
“I told you. I don’t need his money. The old man took care of me and my mom. Gave us a decent place to live. Sent her money when she needed it. I’m just repaying the favor.”
“He never mentioned you. Ever.”
“He never mentioned you, either, until about ten years ago. Said he thought it’d be best if we didn’t know each other.”
“So I skipped town, and you swooped in to play house? He have you take over the business, or something?”
“I’ve got my own gig. I’m just here to carry out his final wishes.”
“He murdered my family. Ordered to have them slaughtered. He doesn’t deserve a peaceful death.”
“So, you’re here to … slit his throat? Seems a bit dramatic. Messy.” His gaze trails over me in appraisal. “You strike me as a bit more meticulous than that. Smarter. Which tells me you’re not as smart as you look, or you didn’t really have the balls to do it.”
Without a word, I spin around to the machine and grip the electrical cord.
“He didn’t do it!” His words halt my next move, and I crane my neck to see him holding the gun on me again. “He didn’t murder your family.”
“He did. I was told by the man who carried it out. He’s dead now, too, in case you’re wondering where this is going.”
“Tony sent me after Vinnie. Dumb prick stole about ten grand, killed Gus, and skipped town.”
Killed Gus? His lawyer for the last thirty some odd years was probably the closest thing my father had to a friend. “How’d he get his hands on ten grand?”
“Pop paid him to go after someone, and the punk skipped off.”
“Yeah, that someone was my wife.”
“Nah. It was someone coming after you, actually.”
“Who?”
“All I know is his people call himEl Cabro Blancoand he’s known for some pretty ruthless shit. Has ties to the cartels down in Mexico. Probably lucky he didn’t find you first.”
“Vinnie killed my family. Val planned to testify against my father. He had every reason he needed to kill her.”
“You’re wrong. He offered to pay for all the kid’s treatments in exchange for your wife’s silence. Three times what that lawyer planned to give her. She agreed to it, as I understand. Vinnie was sent to deliver the deal to her, too.”
Shock settles over me as I twist to look back at my father, trying to imagine him willing to give Val anything, as angry as he was when I left New York. “No, that’s not him. He’s neither charitable, nor forgiving.”
“You’re right. He isn’t. But neither would he slaughter his own family.”
“I’m pretty certain he’s the reason my mother’s dead.”
“The same way you’re the reason your wife is dead.”
