I watch Davidson’s face as he processes what just happened, what I'm capable of. “Are… are you going to… kill us? I had no idea?—”
“No. I’m not going to kill you. At least not today.” Okay, so that’s a little mean, but I don’t want them to get any ideas. “You're going to fix this mess. I’ll arrange for the body’s disposal, but you’ll clean up the mess, figure out who Pascale gave my money to, and let me know.”
“Yes, sir.”
I leave the warehouse without looking back.
In the car, I call for the clean up of Pascale’s body.
Then I sit back, watching the city pass by as I finally head to the office.
I won’t say that I enjoy killing, but there’s something about taking decisive action, protecting what’s mine, that fills me with confidence.
It wasn’t easy returning to New York, to go from the top man in Italy to Don Monti’s son again.
I’ve let myself fall into that passive position, not just with my father but with Elena too. No more.
I’m not the Don, but for all intents and purposes, I’m the head of the Monti family.
As far as Elena… well, she has no idea what's coming for her.
Neither does whoever betrayed her father and framed me all those years ago.
I am Luca Monti.
And I am done waiting.
ELENA
I pull into Dom's circular driveway for the second time today, this time with three excited voices chattering from the backseat.
"Will there be marshmallows in the hot chocolate?" Rocco asks, bouncing in his seat.
"Can I put the star on top?" Elio chimes in.
Adalina, always the quietest of my three, simply clutches her favorite ornament, a glass ballerina Dom gave her last Christmas, that she wanted to hang in her room all year until Christmas again.
"Yes to marshmallows, and we'll see about the star," I answer, trying to push thoughts of Luca from my mind. His lips still burn against mine, even hours later.
Roberto welcomes us with a warm smile, immediately offering to take their backpacks while I usher the kids into the grand living room.
The massive tree stands half-decorated from my earlier work, before Luca derailed everything.
"Wow!" The triplets gasp in unison, their eyes wide at the twelve-foot spruce.
“The lights aren’t on,” Rocco points out. “I thought the lights went first.”
“We’ll remedy that now,” I say, thinking about why the lights aren’t on and hoping the heat on my cheeks isn’t showing up as rosy red.
Dom appears in the doorway, his imposing figure softening at the sight of the children. "There they are." His voice, usually commanding, gentles around them.
"Uncle Dom!" They rush to him.
Even Adalina abandons her shyness. “Look, I brought it back like I said I would.” She holds up the ballerina ornament.
“I had no doubts.” My stern, dangerous cousin kneels to their level, accepting their hugs.
Few people see this side of Dominic Vitale, the man who runs one of the most powerful crime families in the city but who dotes on his cousin's children.
