“This is fucked up, Dominic.”
“No shit.”
“Roman knows—”
“And he doesn’t give a shit. He’s king now. You made him that, remember?”
“If he betrayed our father—”
I closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose, counting to ten. I’d let this one slide.
The pause told me he realized his mistake. “Where are you, and where’s the girl?” he asked.
“Vermont.”
“Vermont? You hate the cold.”
“I’m surviving.” What, were we going to make fucking small talk?
“What do you mean with taking her to auction? You can’t be involved in anything like that.”
“I’m already involved.” Nearly a dozen girls involved.
Salvatore sighed. “Tell me about the auction.”
“Ten, maybe twelve girls. Enough buyers invited to make the bidding interesting.”
“Jesus.”
I snorted.
“Do you know who’ll be attending?”
“No.”
“Can you find out?”
“There isn’t exactly a guest list to these sort of events.”
Salvatore paused at my remark. “Has our uncle been to one before?” he asked, a note of caution to his question.
“Why buy the product when he’s the supplier?” The more I thought about it, the guiltier Roman grew. The more I saw how he was always there, watching, silent, having earned Franco’s trust like no one else had, not even his sons.
“No. No way. He’s our fucking uncle, Dominic. Better than our father ever was to us.”
“Your father.Yourfucking father.”
“Let it go already.”
“You try finding out you’re not who you thought you were for twenty-eight fucking years thenlet it go already.”
Another long silence filled the space, “I’m sorry.” He sighed. “Exactly how much do you know about the auction?”
“It’s not my first.”
“Are you buying girls?”
“Providing trained girls.”
