Salvatore put a hand on my forearm. “Everything has been decided already. I signed over power to Roman,” he told Henderson.
He shook his head. “Your father was living when you did that. He has the final say. And he has spoken.”
“You’re going to take everything away from Roman?” Salvatore asked.
“Not me. Your father.”
“Why me? I’m not even—” I started.
Henderson turned to me. “Franco Benedetti is named as your father on your birth certificate. You are his son, raised as a Benedetti. And you are named as head of the family.”
“What happens to Roman?”
“He’s cut off. He won’t inherit a cent.”
“Why?” Salvatore asked. “Why this sudden change?”
Henderson cleared his throat. “Because of me.” He looked at each of us, his face grave. “I came across something some time ago, something I had to keep quiet for too long. Time came for me to go to your father with what I’d learned.”
“Spit it out,” I said. “What are you talking about?”
Salvatore didn’t speak.
“The man who ordered the assassination of your brother was closer to home than you know.”
No.
“Your uncle ordered the hit.” He paused as if for effect. “And had you been there, Salvatore, as was planned, you would have died too.”
“What?” I had to clear my throat. “What kind of proof do you have?”
“A phone conversation with a man named Jake Sapienti.”
Time stopped. Apart from the pounding of blood in my ears, the room went completely silent. Henderson’s eyes locked on mine as if giving me the time to see. Willing me to understand.
It felt like I’d taken a fist to my gut when I did see.
Salvatore glanced at me, and I knew he too knew the name of my father.
“Recording?” he asked.
Speech escaped me. I sat wordless.
“Sapienti’s phone was tapped. Feds had been looking for information on his employers for a long time. Back then, they had bigger fish to fry than your uncle. And then evidence got old. Lost or forgotten.”
“Lost or forgotten?” Salvatore asked. “How does something like that get ‘lost or forgotten?’”
“We’re human, and there are a lot of bad people out there, son. Your uncle wasn’t the worst of them, not then.”
“I want to hear it,” I said.
Henderson glanced at me, and I wondered if all color had drained from my face.
“Are you sure?”
Salvatore’s hand fell on my arm. I didn’t look at him, though. I only nodded once. Henderson got up and fiddled with some ancient-looking equipment.
As soon as the phone connected, Roman’s voice—laced with disgust—came through, the line clear.
