Page 68 of Thorns of Silence
Fuck, I could handle everyone’s distress but hers.
“I don’t think he’s coming.”
“Why?”
Because he’s hung up on the younger Romero girl the way I am on the older one.
Since that wasn’t a good answer, I opted for the closest truth. “He’s been busy.”
“For Christmas?”
“The underworld never rests. No holidays for the wicked.”
Something flickered in her dark eyes, but I knew asking wouldn’t get me any answers. “Maybe we should go to him. Will you come along?”
“Sure, anything for you.”
She smiled, then shuffled down the hallway, probably to inform the cook and the servants we wouldn’t be having any Christmas festivities—at least not here.
“Get over here, boy.”
I gritted my teeth, fighting the urge to pull out my gun and just start shooting in the general direction of my father’s voice. Fuck, I hated the man.
There was no need to guess where he was. He was always in his office, unless he was with one of his whores or beating my mother.
The door was cracked open, and once inside, I shut it behind me. You never knew what kind of vile shit he’d come up with, and my mother didn’t need this today.
I approached my father where he sat in his chair like an evil, sick king, cowering behind the walls of his castle that was meant for dark fairy tales. All this home housed was nightmares. At least for the duration of his rule.
His eyes locked on me, regarding me as he took a sip of his drink. “I didn’t think you and Amon would show up today.”
“He didn’t,” I stated coldly.
“But you’re here,” he drawled.
“Obviously.” God, how he irked me. I hated his guts and wished I could smash his head against his desk. I’d smoke a cigarette, watching his brain leak out of his ears and spill all over the solid oak.
“What do you want?” he asked.
I stepped forward, stopping at his desk. I opted not to sit, preferring to tower over him.
“You. Dead.” My voice was low but no less deadly.
He just laughed and sipped his drink. Nothing would make me happier than wiping that smirk off his face.
“You’re still a little shit, just like your mother was.”
Was.He never talked about my mother. Fucking ever. He’d never even shared her name with me. I had to drag that out of Hana, the woman who raised me.Francesca D’Agostino.
It was all I knew about my birth mother. And that her family owned vast vineyards all throughout Italy, which I’d since taken over. I started working them when I was twelve and running them by the time I was sixteen. It was the one normal thing in my life.
“I’d imagine Francesca would have probably said the same about you.”
When I was a kid and he beat us, I feared him. That wasn’t the case anymore. I didn’t need him, his money, or his protection. I just wanted him gone.
And I didn’t mean out of town. I wanted him six feet under.
The clear blue sea and bright skies at his back stretched for miles beyond the windows. It was a picture-perfect moment, minus the man sitting in the chair. It would be so easy to reach over, snap his neck, and end him. It would make for a good life and a safe home. But the Omertà had strict rules about the patriarchy. Murdering my father would eliminate the Leones’ claim to the seat.
