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"You play around, but no serious relationships, hmm?"
I can't believe we're talking about this. We've never discussed it. I nearly bite back that I've seen firsthand how serious relationships end with people like me. I could ask if he's aware of how many widows I'm acquainted with, left behind by fallen comrades, or if he wants me to end up a haunted widower like him.
Instead, I shrug. "Too busy. Besides, an heir doesn't require a relationship. Just an understanding."
He rumbles a laugh. "Your business, mio figlio,but I've provided options just in case. Any one of them might fit the bill, and they're more than willing. Just take your pick."
I grab the first paper of the stack and skim it. It's a fucking dating profile. The rest of them are, too—notes, family connections, medical history, pictures. I don't even notice the women's faces and don't care to. I shove the stack back at him, a little pleased that it creates a mess he begins taming immediately.
I don't know why my skin is prickling. This is practical of him, vetting women to try to get me interested. But I don't care about these women.
I never will. They'll be like the other women I meet—the ones that drip falsities and offer me sexual favors and obsess over me until they whine that I'm too busy for them. The first part is fleetingly fun. Then it's all just fucking exhausting.
I don't want any of it. I want…
Delicate brokenness and daring fury.
Not for the first time since stepping into my father's office, I try to push Sybil out of my mind. Then I go still as the idea hits me. It burns, is forceful and far too tempting to possibly ignore.
Before I can think better of it and stop myself, I blurt, "No. None of these."
He narrows his eyes. "Dominick. This is for the family, yes, but for me too. And you. Your business in this department is your business, but if you're waiting for some fictional woman to appear—"
"I'm not. I'm done waiting." I fold my arms again. "Your concern where my love life is concerned is unnecessary. I don't need your help."
"I see." He scoots the pile of papers until they careen into his waste bin with a loud thud. He examines me before chuckling. "Uomo riservato.I'll tell The Kid his reporting is lacking."
"You do that." Seeing Percy in hot water with my father is always amusing. "The other thing, Father. Tell me what it is."
He leans forward, all humor dissolving into an expression I've seen him wear most of my life: Bitterness. Hate. Fury and pain, all trying to hide under the illusion of control and failing.
"Revenge, Dominick. I want Lorenze Gatto's head on my wall. I want his sons dead, and his family ruined for what they did to your brother. To your mother."
His voice shakes on the last word, but it only makes the bile in it stronger. If I put an ounce of his hatred for the GattoPadrinoin a bottle, it would be enough to poison the world. The only thing that could rival his fury is my own. It's something else I don't like seeing similar between us, but it can't be helped.
They say revenge is poison, but sometimes it's the only cure.
I lean forward, mirroring him. "You'll be happy to know I killed one son earlier today."
My father does smile now. It's not a ghost; it's a demon. He's hideously happy, just like me. "Good. I know you have worked on this for the last four years. The Kid tells me that. You make me proud. Once Gatto and his legacy are reduced to rotting filth, you'll have done what I couldn't do. You'll give me my peace, mio figlio,and I'll give you my empire."
I stand, buttoning my suit. Revenge and an heir. Not easy, but doable. I turn to leave, but his voice stops me again.
"You really have a woman, Dominick?"
I smirk. "No. But I have someone who owes me, and The Undertaker never forgives debtors."
With that, I leave. I brush past Ryan on the way out, who eyes me warily as he returns my gun and knife. Most mafiosos I know don't always carry. Business often goes smoothly with good old-fashioned intimidation and violence, no weapons needed. I simply enjoy options.
As I leave the building and pass the several Attolini family members who nod at me in greeting, my phone buzzes. I check the ID as I slide into my Benz.
"Giovanni. What did you find?"
He sighs heavily. "Good news and some bad. The good news is your little tart—" He ignores my growl at his term for Sybil— "did nothing to piss them off. She was not being taken by the Gattos to be murdered."
"Then why the hell was she in the trunk after four years of leaving her be?"
"That's the bad news. I dug up as much as I could without getting their attention, but it seems the Gattos never left her and her family alone. Subtle threats, suspected blackmail…the Rivera’s have paid them money regularly, too. Cash. I'm not sure if they're somehow part of the Gatto family now or if they're just being terrorized."
