There's a pause, and I can picture her sitting on that bed, worrying that gold cross between her fingers.
"That's great. I'm so glad the nausea is better. Are you eating?" Another pause. "Mom, you have to eat. Even if it's just crackers. Please?"
The desperation in her voice is unsettling.
"I'll come see you soon, okay? Maybe this weekend. I just have some work stuff happening right now, but I promise I'll be there soon." Her voice cracks slightly. "I love you so much. More than anything. You know that, right?"
Silence.
"Okay. Get some rest. I'll call you tomorrow."
The call ends, and I hear her take a shaky breath. Like she's trying not to cry.
I should leave and pretend I didn't hear any of that. It’s personal and I had no right to eavesdrop.
Instead, I stand there for another moment, processing what I just witnessed. Bianca stripped down to her most vulnerable—not physically, but emotionally. The fierce, defiant woman who challenged me at every turn, reduced to a daughter terrified of losing her mother.
It's a weakness.
It's also the most human thing I've seen from her.
I finally move, heading down the hallway to my office because I have work to do. There’s a phone call I need to make as soon as possible and a corrupt politician to bring to heel.
Inside my office, I close the door and dial Patterson's number.
He answers on the third ring. "Dante! I was just about to call you."
Fucking Liar. He's been avoiding me all day.
"We need to finalize this deal, Mike."
"About that..." His voice takes on that oily quality politicians perfect over years of lying to constituents. "I've been thinking, and I'm not sure this construction bid is the right move for my district?—"
"You were sure last week when I handed you fifty thousand dollars."
"Well, circumstances change. I have constituents to consider, ethical obligations?—"
"Cut the shit." I lean back in my chair. "How much did they offer you?"
Silence.
"Who?" He tries for innocent. Fails spectacularly.
"Whoever convinced you to back out of our arrangement. One of Matteo's competitors?" I ask even though I already know the answer. "Or was it someone stupider? Someone who doesn't understand what happens when you break a deal with the Romano family?"
"I don't respond well to threats, Mr. Vitale."
"That wasn't a threat. That was a question." I pull up the file Rafe sent me this morning—the one documenting Patterson's offshore accounts, his mistress in Connecticut, the kickbacks he's been taking from construction companies for the past three years. "But if you want a threat, I'm happy to provide one."
"I don't?—"
"Dinner. Tonight. Seven o'clock at Del Posto." I check my watch. It's already five-thirty. "Bring your wife. I'll bring my girlfriend. We'll discuss this like civilized people."
"I have plans?—"
"Cancel them." I hang up before he can argue.
Then I sit there for a moment, staring at the phone.
