I stand aside as the two men bat words back and forth like ping-pong balls for several moments, their words becoming heated, before Christian finally huffs out a colorful curse, tugging on my arm sharply.
“No need for the girl to hear all that,” Dante tells him. “I’ll stay with her while you tell my men our plans.”
Sure. Just poke the bear, why don’t you?
Christian shoots his uncle a scathing glare before he lets go of his unforgiving grip on my arm and stomps off toward the group of men waiting none too patiently near Elias’s fresh grave.
A beat passes. Then another. Neither of us speaks, letting the tense silence hang between us and fester like an infected wound. I’m content to keep it going for as long as necessary. Nothing I have to say to this man would be considered civil.
For a moment, I contemplate making a break for it. The cemetery, although remote, is still a better place to chance an escape than the stables. Theoretically.
“Ava.” Dante breaks the silence with my name, his smoky voice low, as though he doesn’t want to be overheard. My gaze drifts up to his face, and I can see that his eyes hold the same sadness and regret I saw earlier when he watched them lower Libby’s corpse into the ground.
“Dante.” I keep my voice flat, my gaze steady on his. He huffs out a small breath.
“What happened to uncle?” he asks.
I can’t help the snort that leaves my painted lips. “Were you ever my uncle?” I tilt my head up to get a better look at him, and for a second, I’m caught up in how much he resembles the twins. He has the same dark hair, although his is a few shades lighter, and the same faint olive complexion. Unlike Elias, he’s toned and muscular, the lines of his muscles visible beneath his well-fitted suit.
Pale scars litter his hands, and if he were to remove his jacket and roll up his sleeves, I know I’d see ink snaking up both arms.
Dante Romano is a man to be feared.
When he doesn’t say anything, I have my answer. “Exactly,” I hiss. “Tell me something, Uncle Dante,” I spit out the word like it’s a curse. “All of these years feeding me chocolates and bringing me goodies—did you know what your precious brother was doing to me? What his plans were for me? Did you turn a blind eye because you needed his business? Or because he was your brother, and I was nothing more than a dead woman’s kidnapped daughter?”
At least he has the decency to look somewhat ashamed of his inaction over the years. Not that his interference would’ve done any good. In fact, it might’ve made the situation worse, but color me selfish. All I’ve ever wanted is for one person to stand up for me.
No one ever has.
Even Libby and Kenzi stayed quiet. No one dared to openly defy Elias Ward. Not even his own brother, apparently. Even if he’s the Don of the largest Italian Mafia Family in the Pacific Northwest.
“It’s true,” he whispers, running a large hand through his trimmed hair. “I suspected there’s more going on than what Elias lets on, but you and I both know confronting him would have only made things worse for you.”
“So what?” I scoff, folding my arms across my chest. “You think smuggled candies and goodies with a few smiles make up for all the abuse?”
Dante shakes his head. “No,” he says firmly, his tone somber, leaving no room for argument. “But I hope my kindness and sincerity helped ease some of your loneliness, at least a little.”
And they did. There’s no denying that the small acts of kindness he’s shown me over the years have eased the pain of loneliness and despair that settled over me in the dead of night. Knowing that at least one person, one family member, cared, even a small amount, held some of the shadows at bay when darkness surrounded me. He’s the one person I thought saw me as human and not as a whipping post.
Anger and understanding whirl in my mind like a category five hurricane, fighting for control, and I’m not sure which side I want to win.
“Are you glad he’s dead?”
My eyes widen at his sudden question, but I don’t hesitate to answer. “I’m not going to be shedding any tears anytime soon, ifyou really want to know.” My brutal honesty seems to surprise him, but it’s quickly masked, his eyes darting to where Christian stands with his back to us. “But that doesn’t mean I wanted him dead. He’s still the one I called father for the last fourteen years. Those feelings don’t just go away.”
Dante nods, taking a second to gather his thoughts before straightening his shoulders and stepping toward me.
“I want to know who did it.” His smoky voice takes on a menacing edge that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. He may have been Uncle Dante for most of my life, but this man is still a predator, just like my husband. “Tell me which of Dashkov’s men pulled the trigger on Libby.”
Libby.
Not Elias, his brother, but Libby.
“None of Matthias’s men killed her,” I assure him, holding his gaze, refusing to look away. He needs to see that I’m telling the truth.
Dante’s lips curl in obvious disdain. “You’re lying,” he growls, closing the small space between us. My neck strains as I look up at him. He towers over me by nearly half a foot, but I don’t dare step away. Now isn’t the time to cower. “Christian told me what happened at the wedding, how one of Dashkov’s men shot her point-blank when she wouldn’t cooperate.”
The Don takes a step back in surprise at my sudden hollow burst of laughter.
