Page 14 of Damaged & Deadly

Nevertheless, unfortunately, that’s not my call. As the next Don, Dante has to be the one to rise up against his father, and until recently, he seemed content to leave the hierarchy as it is. I can understand why. Taking over the mantle, especially after a hostile takeover, will be incredibly challenging. He didn’t think it was worth the effort.

Without even realizing it, Giovanni has been hammering the nails into his own coffin. First, with his blackmail attempt of using explicit photos of Dante and me to force him to choose a Consigliere worthy of his father’s approval, then the shit he pulled with Sawyer, and now this. Dante may have been happy mainly living unbothered under his father’s rule, but now that he’s been interfering and targeting the very people closest to him, I can tell he’s getting pissed off. I firmly believe Sawyer is the catalyst he needed to push him into finally getting rid of his father. Dante needs to step out of his father’s shadow, remove his influence over him and finally come into his own.

“You’re just in time. We’re about to sit down and eat.”

“Where’s my brother?” Sawyer spits out, clearly already done with this posturing bullshit.

Giovanni’s lip lifts in a sneer, and a flash of irritation crosses his features. He prefers his women quiet and docile. Fuck dolls and arm candy. He could never handle a woman like Sawyer.

When his smile returns, it’s tighter than it was before, more forced. “All in good time. Let’s eat. Santos will be here with him any minute now. The two of them were just… getting to know one another.”

A secretive smirk lifts the corner of his lip, and I notice Dante’s eyes narrow in suspicion as Giovanni wanders off to direct the rest of the guests to the dining table.

I share a look with Dante over Sawyer’s head before he ushers her forward toward the large dining table situated along one of the many floor-to-ceiling glass walls that overlook the city. Giovanni is already sitting at the head of the table. There’s an empty chair on his right for Santos, and Dante moves over to his seat on Giovanni’s left. Sawyer takes the seat beside him while the rest of Giovanni’s advisors claim the other seats. However, I notice they leave the one next to Santos’ chair free—presumably for Luc. Since I’m not technically a guest—only here as Dante’s bodyguard—I’m not eligible to sit at the table, and as such, I move to stand against the glass wall behind Dante and Sawyer.

As everyone settles in, the ping of the elevator arriving rings out across the room. “Ah, right on time.” Giovanni grins triumphantly, only worrying me more. What the hell does he have up his sleeve?

Santos steps out of the elevator, shoving Luc as he goes. The kid is deathly pale, making the bruises on his face stand out more so than they did at the church.

Sawyer moves as if to stand, presumably intending to rush toward her brother, but Dante’s hand quickly snaps out to stop her, and he gives her a stern look to stay seated. She purses her lips yet remains in her seat, her eyes trailing Luc’s approach as Santos jostles him forward into the awaiting chair.

The two siblings remain eye-locked on one another, a private conversation that doesn’t require words going on between them until the scraping of Giovanni’s chair drags against the wooden floor as he stands to draw everyone’s attention.

“Today is a day of celebration,” he announces. My gaze darts from Giovanni to Luc, and I notice Sawyer does the same. Whatever thiscelebrationis involves him, but how? “Today, we welcome one of our own into the fold.” I carefully school my confusion, though I catch a flicker of the same confusion on Sawyer's face. “Someone who has been kept hidden from us for years. Denied the chance to know his family and to live up to his birthright. Thankfully, through sheer luck, he has been found, and I’d like you all to welcome Lucifer Ricci into the Antonelli Famiglia.”

A round of applause goes up around the table, but the sound is dull and distant as I stare at the wide-eyed kid in front of me. His gaze darts around the table before landing on Sawyer, practically begging her to make sense of all this for him. When she turns to look at Dante, likely wondering if he is any the wiser as to what his father is talking about, I catch sight of the deep furrow of her brow. Dante gives an imperceptible shake of his head, indicating he doesn’t know anything more than she does, and she quickly swivels her gaze to her brother’s again.

By the time she turns to Giovanni, her eyes are cold, and I can tell from the way she’s sitting, with her back pushed flat against the chair, that she’s ready to spring into action. “What the hell are you talking about?” she spits, glowering at Giovanni. I doubt the man has ever had a person—let alone a woman—glare at him like that. Like she’d happily sink one of her blades into his gut.

His teeth grind together, the muscle in his jaw popping. “Dante,” he growls. “Control your woman.”

Sawyer’s nostrils flare at the insult, and beneath the table, I notice her fingers clench into a fist, but she wisely remains silent.

“I think what my wife means to say is, how did you uncover all of this?”

Ignoring his son, Giovanni continues to stare at Sawyer, asserting his dominance until she ducks her head in an act of submission. She’s acting. Playing the part of the apologetic wife who has been put in her place so the situation can move along and we can finally get some answers. Sawyer submits to no man, least of all Giovanni.

Seeming appeased, Giovanni lowers himself back into his chair. “It’s interesting, really. Since the girl”—he gestures lamely in Sawyer's direction—“obviously caught your eye, Santos did his due diligence investigating her.”

The man himself chuckles—if you could call it that. It’s more of a deep, humorless rumble, the twitch of his lips causing the line of Xs down his right cheek to shift. “And thank god I did. I’ve been looking for him ever since that bitch came crying to me for money.”

“That… our mother?” Sawyer sneers. Luc’s eyes widen, his face draining of the last vestiges of color.

Santos’ lip curls in disgust. “Thatwhoreyou mean. Who was she to keep my son from me?Myblood.Antonelliblood.” He shakes his head. Seemingly unconcerned with Luc’s deathly pale complexion, Santos claps a hand on his shoulder, turning his head to face him. “My only regret was killing the slut before she told me where you were.” Luc flinches, as if Santos’ words are a physical force whipping him across the face. Unbothered by his son’s reaction, Santos tilts his head, gesturing around the table as he says, “You could have been a part of all of this so much sooner.”

Giovanni leans forward to rest his hand on his second’s forearm. “Better late than never, my friend. The family’ll accept him with open arms, and we’ll get him up to standard as quickly as possible.”

My head reels, and I can’t even begin to imagine what a head fuck this is for Luc or Sawyer. I wish I weren’t standing behind her so that I could read her expression. If the bunching of her shoulders is anything to go by, she’s fucking pissed. Dante squeezes her thigh under the table, a silent warning to rein in her temper. Blood means everything to Giovanni, and knowing it’s Antonelli blood running through Luc’s veins complicates this situation tenfold. Luc isn’t just some kid who he’s using to control Sawyer and Dante. He’s an Antonelli; a soldier. Fucking family.

There’s no way in hell we’re leaving here with him today. Not without declaring world war three, which would be a war none of us are prepared for. It’s not one we could possibly win if we go in half-cocked. I’ve no doubt Dante views it the same way. Sawyer will be furious, but we need to regroup. We need an actual fucking plan, ‘cause if we’re doing this, there’s no turning back. There’s no standing down. Once we make a move against Giovanni, we’ve gotta be one hundred percent in. It’ll be him or us, and I sure as fuck am not ready to die just yet. Not when I haven’t even had a chance to make Sawyer mine and prove to Dante that it’s meant to be the three of us.

The topic moves on to other things as the food arrives. Throughout the meal, Sawyer and Luc push food around their plates, sharing glances. Every time Sawyer lifts her knife, she grips it with white-knuckle force, and I know she’s picturing ramming it through Giovanni’s neck. Thankfully for all of us, she resists the urge.

“Sawyer would like a few minutes with her brother,” Dante says casually as the evening begins to wrap up.

With pursed lips, Giovanni’s narrowed gaze swivels to Sawyer. “Fine, but only a couple of minutes. I need to talk to you anyway.” He gestures toward his office, and with a quick glance my way, silently communicating for me to follow, Dante gets to his feet, and the two of us follow his father. Santos trails behind us, closing the office door behind me.

“What are you doing about these Reject people?” Giovanni demands as he moves to claim his seat behind his large, ostentatious, black marble desk. The wall behind him is sheer glass, offering an unobstructed view of the city sprawled below us, and in front of the desk are two leather seats. Dante makes no move to sit. Santos walks over to a bar cart and pours himself and his boss a glass of scotch before making himself comfortable on one of the black leather sofas placed off to one side, providing an informal seating area.

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