Page 68 of The Don's Hidden Heir

Dominic smiles and pats Lucas on the head. “Go to sleep, little guy. No more questions, okay?”

Lucas mumbles something before he places his head on my stomach.

There’s a warmth in my chest. A prickle of happiness I haven’t felt in a while. When I was younger, I’d always wanted to have the perfect family. I think the need for one was birthed from the absence of a motherly figure and a grieving, alcoholic father.

I needed someone to love and who would love me back. I knew the only way for that to happen was starting my own little family. It’s years later and I somehow feel like I’ve gotten everything I wanted.

Seeing Dominic watch Lucas as he sleeps with such warmth in his eyes, fills me with a new radiating hope. I may not have had the perfect wedding yet, but this, this is all I’ve ever dreamed of.

And I would not have it any other way.

Chapter Eighteen

Dominic

“What the hell happened here?” I growled, clamping a hand over my nose to block out the stench of stale blood and stepping over the corpses of men on the floor.

It’s seven o’clock in the morning, twenty minutes since I got a call from Dante that one of our warehouses had been attacked.

Dante clenches his fist and pounds it into the brick wall. “I have no fucking idea, man. I came here at exactly six to record the shipment that arrived last night. I could smell the blood from feet away and when I walked in, I saw this shit. Someone attacked the warehouse,” he adds, as if it isn’t very obvious.

Huffing angrily, I pull out the pack of cigarettes I carry around, but never smoke, from my breast pocket and slide one between my lips.

“You need a lighter,Capo?” Dante asks.

I lift an eyebrow in his direction. My nerves are twitching with rage and I swear I only see red. At least ten of my men are dead and a shipment of drugs worth millions of dollars is gone.

Dante flicks the lighter and I inhale, closing my eyes as the ashy smoke mixes with the bitterness in my stomach. It’s supposed to be relaxing, but it makes my throat itch with the thirst for blood.

When I open my eyes, I exhale the smoke and stare at Dante. “I was here last night. Whoever did this shit knew I was here and waited for me to leave.”

Dante looks like he’s thinking when Marcus bursts into the warehouse, cracking his fingers, the fury on his face matching mine. “What the hell happened here?”

“What the hell do you think happened?” Dante bites back. “A Christmas party?”

Marcus looks around, he doesn’t cover his nose and doesn’t seem affected by the smell at all. “Those Russian bastards.”

“You can’t be too sure the Russians did this,” I say. Kirill is a fucking loser, but he isn’t so stupid that he’d launch an open attack on me like this one.

“Then who?” Marcus snarls. “Irish mob? The Camorrists?”

My eyes meet his when he says, “The Camorrists.”

Marcus shakes his head. “Nessun fratello. The Camorrists are pussies, they wouldn’t attack you like this. Those fuckers would wet their pants if you glared at them.”

“Which is why I suspect them.” The Russians wouldn’t risk my anger and the loss of life it would bring. Plus, Kirill is a proud man. A cunt, but a proud old pig, nonetheless. If he did something like this, he would want me to know it was him.

I draw in more smoke. “Any news from Alexei?”

“No,” Dante answers. “He’s made sure to avoid our territory.”

“Avoiding our territories won’t do him any good. I’ve given him enough time to make a decision. It’s on him if he hasn’t decided.” I’m done being patient. Too fucking angry to be merciful.

“Say the word and I’ll kill him, brother,” Marcus says.

“There won’t be need for that.” Not yet at least. I take in a final inhale of my cigarette then toss it to the floor and watch as it slowly gets drenched in blood. I step on it with my Tom Ford leather shoe.

“What should I do, then?”

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