“Haven’t you learned not to underestimate women with an agenda?” Isabella DeMarco’s name didn’t need to be said.
“Be careful with Roman,” Salvatore said soberly. “He’s different now. Harder.”
“He was always like that. You just never saw it.”
“I’ll talk to dad,” Salvatore said.
“How is he?” The question came before I could stop it.
“He’s sorry,” Salvatore said quietly. “He writes to me, and every time he says how sorry he is about how he told you. How he lost both his sons that night.”
I bit my tongue not to speak. I didn’t give a fuck. I. Did. Not. Give. A. Fuck.
Salvatore sighed. “He’s older. Weaker. But he’s Franco Benedetti. He’ll outlive all of us. But if this is true, he’ll skin Roman alive.” He paused. “Do you have a safe place to go, to take her?”
“Yeah.”
“Don’t tell me where.”
“I wasn’t going to. I have to go.”
“Check in with me. Please. And if you need me—”
“I won’t. Go be with your family.”
“I love you, brother.”
Fuck. How could those words impact me now? Seven years later?
“I have to go.” I disconnected the call before I said something stupid. Before I had to eat the words I’d fed Gia and stand the fool.First thing I needed to do was get Gia out of there.
I had no delusions about what that would mean for me. I was stealing from Victor Scava. Possibly from his uncle, Angus, the head of the Scava family. Either would kill me for what I was about to do.
But according to what Gia told me, Victor at least knew where we were. He’d sent us here to this cabin. I’d used it before. Eight times, to be precise. So he’d been the one who’d hired me all those times. But did he know I was once Dominic Benedetti? If he did, would he have sent Gia to me with our brand marking her body? Or was it just that? Had he sent her, intending for me to find it?
For a moment I entertained the idea of taking her to Franco. Of reminding him of his pledge to keep her and her family safe. But then, I live in the real world. Family comes before any pledge and ultimately, Roman was family. He was his brother-in-law. Gia was the daughter of a dead foot soldier and the sister of a snitch.
Either Victor Scava branded and killed Mateo Castellano and left it to look like Roman’s work, or he’d taken the order from Roman to kill him. Would Victor take an order from Roman? No. No fucking way. And no way Roman would tell him to brand his fucking name on the dead man. He was much too clever for that.
The two families didn’t deal with each other. There wasn’t a rivalry; they didn’t share territory. But was there some sort of allegiance? A secret pact? And had something gone wrong for Victor to want Roman out badly enough he’d send a message that could make Roman’s own family turn on him?
Ultimately, Roman wasn’t head of the Benedetti family. How could he be if he wasn’t even a Benedetti? When I’d found out Salvatore had handed the entire operation over to him, I’d felt so angry. The Benedetti throne did not belong to him. Hell, it belonged less to him than me. He was the usurper.
Then what the hell was I if he was that? I was cut from the same cloth. It’d be good for me to remember that. The Benedetti name did not belong to me either. And ultimately, I’d bring it down. I wanted to end the Benedetti crime family. End their rule. Shove their noses into the dirt.
But I had to admit, it still burned. The thought that he, my uncle, was head of the family I’d so wanted to rule. It fucking burned.
After packing my few things into a duffel bag, I chose a hoodie and a pair of sweatpants for Gia to wear on the drive. She’d swim in the clothes, but it was better than being naked. I’d get her something that fit as soon as I could. Right now, we had to move. I didn’t know if Scava would come for her early. Take her to auction himself. Hell, fucking put a bullet in her head for all I knew. Victor Scava was a son of a bitch.
I entered her room and found her standing by the window, trying to peer out from between the slats.
She turned to face me, pressing her back against the wall when she did so, panic widening her eyes like it did every time I walked in. I studied her, trying to keep my attention on her face, not wanting to remember the things I’d done to her. Trying instead to focus on her eyes, her defiant, beautiful, sad, terrified eyes.
“Get dressed.” I tossed the clothes on the bed. “We’re leaving.”