Page 51 of Claimed By Him

I sat in the armchair in front of his desk. We’d just finished discussing how I dealt with the mysteriousintocableman who’d been trying to take over sales on our streets. With Gio’s pictures from that night in the alleyway, we were able to identify a certain family involved in the whole operation. Over the next month, that family led us to a small café in Chinatown, which we then staked out for weeks before we finally saw Mr. Lovell arrive for a late-night meeting. Immediately, I knew that was our man.

Mr. Lovell was Antonio’s contact in the investment industry. A genius with money but lacking in street smarts. We came to find that he’d been trying to get his own drug business up and running from behind a fucking desk, which was why it was so hard to track him down. But it meant he had to rely on others to do the actual work—secure the supply from Colombia; smuggle it into the city; distribute the load and manage the cash.

The very moment he stepped out of his office and into the street, we found him. I went straight to Antonio with it—avoiding Fiona who was uncharacteristically hiding up in her room—and gave him all the details. He didn’t seem surprised. Apparently, Mr. Lovell had asked Antonio one too many times about his no-drug-sales policy, and he’d been watching out for him. He just didn’t expect that he’d attempt to sell on Romano turf instead of Moretti’s. He’d already had a few issues in the past keeping his turf drug free.

After that, it only took a day for Ace and I to find him alone in bed and silently put a bullet in his skull. He was a toxic, manipulative, and untrustworthy thorn in the organization’s ass. We knew when we could use someone and when to just put them down without a struggle.

Luigi ended the rest of Mr. Lovell’s operation by approaching all his partners and bringing them onto our payroll. It would definitely take a while for the Colombians to trust us, but both Luigi and I felt it would be better for business if they worked for us instead of against us.

So, not only had I ended the problem, but I’d expanded our business, too. Of course, my father was pleased. I spun my knife in my hand, thinking deeply about what to tell him.

“It’s about my head.”

“What the hell do you mean?”

I clenched my jaw and looked him in the eyes. “I haven’t been happy, not for a long time, Papà.”

He looked down, quiet. He’d clearly noticed. “Do you not enjoy the work we do?”

“I do, usually… But it’s not enough. I need to find a way to make my life my own and not the life I’ve been told to live. Does that make sense?”

My father wasn’t always a very compassionate man, but perhaps his age was softening him because he wasn’t as angry as I expected him to be. He merely pressed his mouth into a flat line.

“Yes, son… In fact, I felt a similar way when I was your age.”

I lifted my brows and leaned back in my seat. “Do tell.”

His flat lips turned up into a smirk. “I was an idiotic young man before your mother came along. I lived for pussy, drink, and drugs, and I was nowhere close to ready for marriage or donship.” He shook his head, looking nostalgic. “So, when I found her, I fell in love, and I begged her to marry me, but she said no.”

“Really?” I had no idea; I’d always thought their marriage was arranged.

“Yes. She told me that I had to tell her who I was first. And I said, of course! I’m the next Romano don! I’m the life of the party! I am Enzo Romano!” He held his fist up, becoming animated in his storytelling. “But she said, is that who you are, or who other people say you are? And I thought, bah! This woman’s crazy!”

I laughed. I could remember my mother, and I knew her, she was the most intelligent one of all of us.

“But as time passed and I continued to enjoy the nightlife, I realized that I was only living the life other people said was good. I was only ever doing something because someone else said hey! Let’s do this!” He smiled at me, and I couldn’t remember a time when my father spoke to me like this: man to man. “So, one day, I said no. I want to have my own purpose. I want a wife who will hold me at night and children who will laugh and play at my feet. I want to build something meaningful, not spend every night drunk, high, and alone.”

“So, what did you do?”

“I got clean. I fished.”

“You fished?”

“I fished, son! For a month! I fished up in the mountains, and I didn’t say a word. I let my brain think until it had no more thoughts to think. Then I went back to your mother, and I said: I am Enzo Romano. I like to fish, and I want children, a little girl, and a little boy.”

“That’s it?”

“She told me she liked to read, and that she wanted a little boy first, then a little girl.” I grinned because she got exactly that, me—her firstborn. My father held his hands out, ending his story with a shrug. “So, I took her with me when I fished, and she read with her book balancing on her pregnant belly.”

I dropped my head back and laughed with him. This was more than I expected. I wasn’t sure if it applied to my life, but the part about spending time clearing your mind sounded like a very good idea.

“So, can I go fishing, Papà?”

“Of course, Tony. You take as long as you need, and then you come back, and you tell me who you are.”

The next day I packed a bag and said my goodbyes to my sisters and my men. Ace was going to be acting underboss, and when I got back, I would be don. But not yet. First, I would hit the open road in my Impala.

I desperately wanted to see Fiona before leaving town, but I thought better of that. I’d been successfully staying out of her way for four months and even though I fucking wished I could just see her one more time, I knew it would only make it more difficult for me to leave, and I needed to do this.

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