She smiled.
“Where’s Dominic?”
She shook her head. “No one knows. He disappeared after that night. Good riddance.”
“He’s not my father’s son.”
“I know.”
“He wasn’t trying to kill me. You know that, right?”
“I don’t care, Salvatore. He almost did.”
I decided to drop it for now. “My father?”
“He had a heart attack, but he’s fine. He’s home already. Roman’s been running the show apparently. Probably waiting for you to get well enough to take over.” She snorted, her face changing, darkening.
“He had a heart attack?”
“I guess seeing one son shoot another was too much even for his cold heart.”
A knock came on the door. We both turned to see Roman peek his head in.
“I heard he was awake.”
“Come in,” Lucia said and stepped aside.
“Where are your crutches?” Salvatore asked me.
“You’ve been out a while. Long enough, my ankle’s mostly fine.”
“You should use them—”
“Bossy.”
“I need to talk to you,” Roman said to me, glancing at Lucia.
“I’ll wait outside,” Lucia said, picking up her bag.
“You can stay,” I told her.
She shook her head. “It’s fine. I’ll get some coffee.”
“Thank you,” Roman said.
Once she was gone, he sat in the seat she’d occupied and took a folder out of his briefcase.
“How are you feeling?”
“I’ve been better. What’s going on? Fill me in.”
“You know about your father’s heart attack?”
I nodded.
“Well, Franco is home and recovering. He’s not doing well, though, Salvatore.”
I didn’t reply.
