I wouldn’t have been able to keep my promise and kill him anyway, but now I even wondered if he wanted me to.
Everything was different now.
Throwing the covers back, I got out of bed and went to the bathroom to have a shower.
Ironic, that. Be careful what you ask for. You just might get it. James would say that to me way back when I thought the mafia life glamorous. When I hadn’t yet witnessed its dark, gruesome side. When I hadn’t yet seen death.
Dominic’s words came back to me. “Killing doesn’t make you strong.” He was right, I knew that. But to hold the gun that brings your enemies to their knees, it was heady stuff. The thought made my heart pump harder, made my blood run hotter. It made me feel powerful.
But then the image of the bleeding man impressed itself upon my brain, as if branding itself onto the insides of my eyelids, and I bowed my head. He’d looked much like Mateo had when Victor had brought him to his knees. Weakened and powerless and afraid. Mateo was no saint. I knew that. No one in this world could be. Not a single one. I did not have illusions on that note. I wondered if before it was through, once all was said and done, would I have blood on my hands too? Didn’t I already, even if it wasn’t me who’d pulled the trigger yesterday?
I switched off the water, shuddering at the memory of Dominic standing there so cool, so unaffected as the condemned man knelt before him.
He’d wanted me to see him like that.
I went back into the bedroom to get dressed and heard a car door closing outside. Dominic’s room overlooked the front of the property, and I could see Salvatore loading a suitcase into the back of an SUV. Lucia stood beside him, one hand on her belly, the other on the door. She wanted out. She wanted to be gone. I understood it. But she and I were different. She was the mafia princess who’d been locked away in a tower and had never wanted any of this. Me, I was the daughter of a foot soldier, someone no one gave a shit about, and I was the one who ended up in the bed of the new king.
Question was, where did I want to be?
Who did I want to be?
Salvatore and Dominic spoke, hands clasped together like two powerful men making an alliance. They then hugged briefly, almost awkwardly. Dominic turned his attention to Lucia, who must have said good-bye before Salvatore opened her door, and she climbed in. No hug from her. To say she did not like Dominic would be an understatement.
Dominic stood on the front steps and watched the car drive off. He remained there until it disappeared down the thickly wooded road. He then glanced up at the window as if he knew I stood there. Our gazes locked, and my heart momentarily lost a beat. He turned to one of the men flanking him—of which there stood two, bodyguards I realized—and I stepped away from the window to dress and then went downstairs.
The door to the study stood open, and I heard Dominic speaking inside. I forced myself to walk into it, wondering if it would smell like it had yesterday—the metallic scent of blood mixed with fear and hate. But the desk had been moved, and the carpet was gone. Only bare floorboards remained.
Dominic looked up at me and told whoever he spoke with he had to go. After hanging up, he stood.
“Gia.”
I looked for evidence along the walls, splatterings of blood, of tissue, but none remained.
“It’s been cleaned,” Dominic said, coming to my side. “You’re probably hungry. Let’s go have breakfast.”
He spoke so casually. “Does what happened yesterday upset you?” I asked as he led me out of the room.
He paused. “I wouldn’t say it upsets me, but it’s not like I’m dancing with joy here, Gia. He was my uncle. He played ball with me when I was little. I don’t remember him not being in my life.”
“I’m sorry.”
He didn’t respond. We walked into the dining room, where a buffet of warm and cold foods sat waiting on the table. Dominic poured two cups of coffee, and I took one, not feeling hungry enough to eat.
“I thought I’d feel better,” I said.
He set his cup down, took a plate, and began to fill it with scrambled eggs and bacon.
“You never do.”
He spoke without looking at me.
“You just figure out how to go on.” He chose a seat and began to eat. “Eat, Gia.”
I picked up a plate and stood there, wondering if I’d ever have an appetite again.
“Tell me something,” he asked.
I still hadn’t moved to fill my plate.
“What do you want?” He leaned back in his chair and chewed on a strip of bacon.