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I standat the window of my office at the estate and stare out at the setting sun. The French folding doors lead out from the office onto the neatly paved terrace and offer a view across the rolling gardens down toward the river that edges my property. The evening rays turn the vista golden orange, and if I were an emotional man, I might be moved by such a view.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of the chapel where Bianca and I were married, and my mouth tightens at the memory of all that has happened since. That day seems a lifetime ago. Was it really less than a year?
Bianca has turned everything upside down since then.
I was looking for her for so long prior to that day, and I had no idea what I would do with her when I found her.
Just like now. What am I to do with my recalcitrant, runaway wife?
I may still be angry with her—and I was blazingly, incandescently angry in the beginning—about the fact that she ran, but I understand why she did it, and I cannot fault her for wanting to protect her child.
Ourchild.
This life is often violent, rarely safe, and all actions have consequences. Unfortunately for Bianca, my beautiful little bird, that includes her. No one can be an exception to that rule. If I allow one person to take advantage of me, my power base will topple and fall quicker than I can blink.
I do notwantto punish my wife. Ihaveto punish her. I have no choice.
I turn from the window to face my second, who must have the patience of a saint to put up with my recent moods day in and day out.
He has been standing silently waiting since he asked what we should do about Rossi. Waiting for me to be ready with an answer.
“Rossi is a problem that will need to be dealt with,” I concede. “Sooner rather than later. But I still need him alive, for now. I am certain he has information about the past that he may not even know is valuable. I need that information, Danelli.”
“Yes, Boss.” My second’s expression shows puzzlement. He rightfully expects more of an explanation.
I cannot tell him that I’ve been operating on gut instinct when it comes to Rossi, having suspected for some time that the deaths of my parents, and Bianca’s, are linked, despite the crimes being several years apart. It would not be considered enough to have a gut feeling about something in my position. But now I have proof, and it is time to move.
“Carnarvon sent through a report this morning that confirms DNA found at my parents’ murder scene matches a sample found at the scene of the bomb that killed Bianca’s parents.”
Danelli is good. He only reveals his shock via a slight widening of the eyes. “That link was only discovered now?”
“The testing was less advanced back then. I ordered a retest of all the evidence.”
Danelli nods thoughtfully and doesn’t need to ask how my men were able to gain access to forensic evidence from cold case files. He knows my methods that involve greasing the right hands, and using threats when bribery does not work.
“And Rossi is the common denominator?”
“He was an associate of my father’s, and in love with Bianca’s mother. He may not have been directly involved in their deaths, but I am certain he knows something. He is a conduit to the past—and I will keep him around until we no longer need him.”
Danelli grunts. “Then he disappears?”
“Precisely.”
I return to my desk and take a seat, leaning my elbows on the mahogany expanse and steepling my fingers as I study my second. “I spoke with Rossi again this afternoon. He, too, has heard more whispers of a new player on the scene who was apparently directing Anders and the men who followed him to oblivion in my club. He confirmed the name he had heard whispered as Antonio. Not Anton. Does that name ring a bell for you?”
“No, Boss. I mean, I do know a couple of Antonios—it’s not an uncommon name,” Danelli answers.
His face holds its usual furrowed brow. He is a good second, taking on the worries of our family almost as keenly as I do.
“But neither are what I’d consider players, and neither would have the balls to go up against you. They’re small fish. One is an old guy who plays bocce at Langone Park, and the other owns a restaurant down near Battery Wharf.”
“The wharf?” My attention sharpens. “I understand we’ve had some issues again down at the wharf, Danelli.”
“I’m sure it’s not related to this guy’s restaurant, Boss. But I’ll look into it. Same issue as the last two times?”
“Yes. Our shipments were held up, just long enough to raise a question mark over our ability to deliver on time. Check the shipment for tracking devices before it gets released to the client this time. And pay a visit to our friends on the payroll. I believe they need a reminder.”
Danelli straightens. “Will do, Boss. How strong a message do we send?”
