I agree with him on that. The DeMarco war damaged us, at least a little. We won, but between that and my mother’s illness, Roman is right. This is not the time for war. Vitelli—hell, any ambitious family—would use my mother’s illness, see it as a weakness, an opportunity.
“I gave a little, to gain a little,” he says. “I apologize if I overstepped.”
“I don’t like being caught off guard.”
“And it wasn’t my intention that you should be.” He rises, walks around his desk and comes toward me. “Sergio, you’re my nephew. My blood. And when the time comes, I hope I’ll be of service to you as I am to your father.” He gives a brief bow of his head.
I watch him do this, know what it takes to do what he’s doing. He’s right that we’re blood. And to have to bow to a man almost thirty years his junior, whose only privilege is birth, must burn a little.
I nod, check my watch. “Anything new from the Vitelli boys?”
“No. Quiet as can be.”
“Which we both know is not really a good sign.” Silence always precedes an ambush. A deafening, deadly stillness.
“Yes, we do.” He moves back behind his desk. Sits. “I’ll keep my eyes on Vitelli.”
“Do. I want to be kept up to date on any happenings. Let’s keep my father out of this for now.”
“I agree with that.”
“Are you coming to Dominic’s birthday dinner?” I ask to change the subject.
“Of course.”
“I’ll see you then,” I say.
“You don’t want to stay? Have something to eat?”
“No, thank you. I have some personal business to take care of.”
“All right. I’ll walk you out.”
When I’m done at my uncle’s, Eric drives me to my next destination, the Dayton Architecture offices. As in Professor Harry Dayton, the prick. He touched her, expecting her to fuck him for a fucking internship. Fucking asshole. I’m about to do this town a service.
As we near the offices, I wonder how she gets out here because she doesn’t own a car. There’s a bus stop a few blocks down. I’m guessing she takes the bus and although this isn’t a bad neighborhood, the opposite, in fact, I don’t like the thought of her walking on her own or waiting in the dark at the bus stop.
The office is a mansion that’s been converted to serve as the Dayton Architecture firm. I admit, it’s beautifully done. I’ve heard of the firm, too. When I bought my house, they were one of the ones I considered to do the job of renovating.
Eric and I walk up to the front doors together. I don’t have anyone else with me, but I don’t think I’ll need much man power. When we walk inside, a pretty, young girl looks up from the receptionist desk.
“Good afternoon, gentlemen. How can I help you?” she asks, a smile on her lips.
“We’re here to see Harry Dayton,” I say, glancing around. There’s a woman in the waiting room who’s stopped flipping through the magazine on her lap to watch us and someone else peers up from her desk in an office at the back.
It’s not like we stand out though, Eric and me. We’re dressed well. Dark suits. Clean cut. But maybe we do. Maybe they can feel the aggression coming off us.
“Do you have an appointment?” she asks.
“Tell him Mr. Benedetti’s here to see him.”
“Professor Dayton’s very busy, Mr. Benedetti.” She pushes a few keys on her keyboard. “And I don’t see you listed here.”
“Upstairs?” I ask, ignoring her. “That his office?” Double doors at the top of the winding, elaborate staircase lead me to believe it is. Like a fucking king, he sits up there. Fucking pervert. “We’ll see ourselves up.”
“Sir! You can’t go up there—”
Eric and I take the steps up at a brisk pace. I unbutton my suit jacket as I reach the first-floor landing and don’t bother to knock but push the door open to find a very surprised, balding middle-aged man sitting behind a massive desk.
