Page 67 of Sinful Mafia Prince

DOM FOLLOWED HIS father out onto the patio, the silence between them heavy as his mind tried to play catch-up.

One minute he’d been having the best morning of his life—breakfast made for him, Luca in his arms, about to be laid out on the kitchen island—and the next his father had shown up with his somber disposition. Not exactly how Dom had planned his morning.

What was his father doing there? Dom had been very particular about where he chose to bring Luca, and knew this place was one his father was unlikely to ever set foot in. So to see him standing in the kitchen had been a shock on many levels.

His father had said their location was secure and that was why he was there, so that could only mean one of two things: the Fiores had infiltrated his New York compound, necessitating his finding a new place of shelter, or the Fiores were no more. Dom knew which option he preferred.

“What happened back in New York?”

Vincenzo took in a deep breath and let it out as he stared down at the sparkling blue waters of the lake. “Pictures never do this place justice. It truly is one of the most exquisite places on earth.”

Dom turned to look out at the mountains off in the distance, and couldn’t help but agree. The time he’d spent here with Luca had made him realize just how much he missed coming to Italy. This place had always been such an integral part of him and his family. A place they came to unwind and relax… To be together. So when part of that family had been ripped away, it hadn’t seemed right to return without them.

But sometime during his most recent visit, that had changed for him—and the reason for that was currently in their kitchen.

“I agree. It’s hard to capture such beauty on film.”

“Hmm.” His father nodded and braced his hands on the rail, and Dom noticed several scratches and welts across his knuckles.

“What happened to your hands?” Dom asked.

Vincenzo shrugged.“It’s nothing. Just a few war wounds.”

“Warwounds?” Dom’s spine stiffened. His father shouldn’t have any fucking wounds—that was what the rest of them were there for. “What the fuck does that mean?”

Vincenzo patted Dom’s hand. “It just means your father saw a little action while you were gone. That’s all.”

That’s all?Dom gritted his teeth. He was going to kill those fuckers when he got back home. How dare they let something happen to his father, let someone touch him.

Dom took his phone out of his pocket, but Vincenzo put his hand over it and shook his head. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m going to find out which piece of shit let someone get close enough to hurt you.”

For the first time since Vincenzo had arrived, he smiled. “Domenico, put that away.”

“This is unacceptable. I’m going to—”

“Put your phone away and listen.” Vincenzo let out a sigh and shook his head. “So hotheaded. I wish you felt so passionate about your own safety as you did mine.”

Dom narrowed his eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know exactly what it means. How many times have you put your life in danger over the last couple of months? You,figlio mio,have a tendency to run toward trouble, not away from it.”

“Comes with the territory, wouldn’t you say?”

“Yes, but not unnecessarily.”

“And this,” Dom said, pointing to his father’s hands. “Whatever caused this was necessary?”

A savage glint twinkled in Vincenzo’s eyes. “Yes. It most certainly was.”

Dom took in his father’s self-satisfied smile, and he finally understood. “Fiore’s dead.”

“He is.”

Two words confirmed that this nightmare, that this long plan of revenge and violence, had finally come to an end—an ending that Dom hadn’t been a part of. As he stood there trying to process everything, his father moved in and took his face between his hands.

“It was glorious,” Vincenzo whispered, “watching the life drain from that fool’s eyes, and I made sure it was up close and personal. That heknewwhose hands were responsible for his ending.”

---