Page 115 of Sin & Secrets

“Is that why you put people like Claudio Lazzaro on your payroll?”

I see Cas tense up at the name in my periphery, but I don’t look away from my father.

“Lazzaro was a useful asset.”

“Lazzaro was an abusive drug addict.”

“Which made him easy to control.” Giuliano shakes his head. “You know nothing of leadership if it took you this long to figure that out. Control is everything.”

Without warning, Giuliano grabs Cas and pulls her off the couch. She yelps as the knife momentarily presses into her skin once more before she can scramble to right herself, her back now against Giuliano’s chest.

“Every man has his weakness, Rocco,” Giuliano drawls on. “Lazzaro’s was drugs. But it seems you and Carmine have something in common.”

Cas thrashes against his firm hold.

“It was a stroke of genius, I think, forcing him to smuggle his daughter back into Brooklyn so that she was within arm’s reach. It kept him very motivated indeed. So much so that he killed himself instead of sharing my secrets.”

He turns his vile face to Cas’ ear. “All so I wouldn’t have an excuse to seek you out and kill you myself. But it seems fate was just saving you for this exact moment.”

I take a step forward, hands twitching with the desire to wring his neck.

Giuliano’s eyes narrow, his grip on Cas tightening. “Don’t,” he warns, pressing the knife harder against her throat.

But Cas isn’t just some damsel waiting to be rescued.

She locks eyes with me, and in that split second, I see her determination—she’s not giving up, not willing to let her father’s death be in vain. Her eyes dart over to my father’s makeshift greenhouse, to the rake hanging from the wall.

I take another step, forcing Giuliano back. “Careful now. I would so hate for this to get messy.”

Without warning, Cas drives her elbow into Giuliano’s ribs, catching him off guard. It’s enough to make him falter, just a heartbeat of hesitation, but it’s all I need.

I grab the rake, swinging it in a wide arc. The metal teeth catch Giuliano’s arm, tearing his grip away from Cas and knocking the knife out of his hand.

Cas stumbles forward, free but disoriented, and I rush to her, shoving her behind me. I barely have enough time to take comfort in her reassuring warmth, her familiar scent, when Giuliano lets out a scream in frustration.

“NO!”

He’s on me in an instant, fists flying. He’s fast for an old man, his strikes precise, honed by decades of street brawls and backroom deals. I barely dodge his first punch, but his second catches me in the gut, knocking the wind out of me.

I stagger back, the rake slipping from my grasp. A pair of hands grip my shoulders, holding me steady.

“Rocco!”

Giuliano seizes the opportunity, grabbing a nearby pair of shears, their blades gleaming under the penthouse lights.

“You’ve always been weak,” Giuliano sneers, advancing. “Too soft to lead. Too soft to be my son.”

I tear myself away from Cas’ comforting embrace. “And you’re too desperate to see this is over.”

I dart left, and he lunges, the shears aimed at my chest, but I sidestep, grabbing a potted plant from a nearby table and smashing it over his head.

Giuliano staggers, dazed, shards of ceramic and soil cascading down his suit. I kick the shears from his hand, and they go sliding across the cement.

With a frustrated grunt, he launches himself at me.

We’re locked in a brutal dance now—blow after blow, some missing and some landing as we grapple for control. The pain is only secondary to my instinct to fight, to protect. To win.

Finally, I see an opening. I drive my shoulder into him, sending him crashing into the balcony doors. The glass spiderwebs with the impact but doesn’t break.

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