I rolled up the sleeves and dug out a pair of suede Chelsea boots from my closet. If I was going to see my mom, the least I could do was dress nice to try and distract her from my face.
The whole drive to my parents’ house, I struggled to fight down my nerves. I suspected that my father was the one who’d taken out the hit on me. He’d been running around with that Molinaro kid and everyone knew it. My suspicion was they were trying to get me out of the picture so Molinaro and my father could work together to build a bigger monopoly on the business. If that was the case, though, that also meant Molinaro Sr. was going to find his name at the top of a very short list soon, too.
Of course there was the off chance it wasn’t my father, it wasn’t Molinaro, that it was someone else entirely. But I’d spent my life flying under the radar. Sure, I’d pissed a lot of people off along the way, but that had almost exclusively been in a sex way, not an I’m going to put you in the ground way. If it wasn’t one of those two, I was at a loss, and if I didn’t know who wanted me dead, I couldn’t figure out how to kill them first.
I pulled into the driveway at my parents’ house and cut the ignition, squeezing my body beneath the steering wheel to slip Golden’s Ruger in my ankle holster. Two deep breaths later and I was out of the car, heading up the walkway to the front door before I could tell myself it was a shitty decision.
My mom had the door open before I even reached the knob and she flew onto the porch, wrapping her arms around me and burying her face against my chest.
“Peppino,” she whimpered, holding me a little too tight against the stab wound in my side.
“Mama.” I worked her arms loose and walked her backward into the house, trying to hide the way the shock of pain had almost taken me to my knees.
I really needed to figure out who wanted me dead.
“What happened to you?” she asked, covering her mouth with a trembling hand.
“Mama, I’m fine,” I promised. “Is Dad home?”
“He’s upstairs in his office.” She glanced toward the stairs.
“Has Molinaro been around?”
“Not since last Sunday.”
The familiar smell of tomatoes and herbs floated toward the front door, and I realized it was Sunday. It was dinner time.
“You’ll stay and eat,” she said.
“If he allows it.”
“He’ll allow it.”
“Mama.” I sighed, following her into the house. She went into the kitchen and I paused near the stairs. “I’m gonna go talk to him. We have business.”
“Sandro…”
“It’ll be fine,” I promised.
“You’ll stay for dinner,” she said again, like she could wish it into reality, but we both knew I wouldn’t be at that dinner table unless my father said I could be. It was the way he ran his business, his house, his life. Everything was at his discretion, everyone’s existence and presence only because he desired it. And he rarely desired mine which was why he was at the top of my list of suspects.
I took the stairs slowly, hoping the exertion didn’t wind me. I hadn’t done much the past few days, and I didn’t want to look weak in front of my old man, even though I had been on death’s door a week before. His office door was closed, and I rapped my knuckles against the wood and waited.
“Who is it?” he called, no doubt sitting at his desk, knowing exactly who it was. I wanted to tell him as much, but there was a solid chance I would open that door and take a bullet to the chest.
“Sandro,” I answered.
Silence and silence and then, “Come in.”
I regretted my only gun was on my ankle, but coming in clearly strapped would have been seen as a sign of disrespect and, again, I wasn’t looking for a bullet in the chest. I twisted the knob and stepped into the room, closing the door behind me with a flick of my wrist.
When he saw me, his eyes widened briefly, but he quickly schooled his expression. My father was skilled with controlling his emotions. I never had been. I was always too brash, too impulsive. I thrived on instant gratification, which he told me would always be my downfall. I wondered if he was right, if my pursuit of the things that brought me pleasure would be my ultimate undoing.
If Foster Golden would be the one to end me after all.
“Surprised to see me?” I asked.
He gestured to one of the chairs in front of his desk and I sat, dipping my head in a quick flash of respect.
