I always thought I’d celebrate his fall, his weakening.
I went to him and placed a hand on his shoulder.
“I’ll look for him.”
He sighed, nodded his head, then met my eyes and took my hand. “I’m too fucking old for this.”
“Go upstairs, Franco. I’ll handle the meeting,” Roman offered.
My father looked at him, shook his head, and steeled his spine before standing. “I’ll handle it.”
Roman nodded. We both knew he couldn’t not handle this one. It would be seen as ultimate weakness.
“Dominic is unsatisfied. Always has been,” he said to me. “I’ve always pushed him to want more. It corrupted him in a way.”
I wanted to tell him it wasn’t his fault, but wasn’t it? At least partially?
He put his hand on my shoulder and came to within inches of me. He tapped his forefinger against his head. “He’s not right, not now. He can’t accept his place. But remember, he is your brother. Find him, and bring him home. Do that, and I’ll take care of him.”
20
LUCIA
“What the hell are you doing here?” I asked, standing and leaning my weight on my crutches. I didn’t feel half as confident as I somehow managed to sound. “How did you get in?”
He stood in the light just on the other side of the coffee table looking disheveled, his shirt untucked, his hair messy, his face bruised. He gave me a lopsided grin, and I really looked at him for the first time, the dimple on his right cheek disarming me momentarily. His eyes were a light blue-gray, the lashes thick and darker than his blond hair. He was tall, well over six feet, but he had a leaner build than Salvatore, although still muscular. Powerful.
I returned my gaze to his face, saw his grin widen. The darkness in his eyes reminded me who he was.
He tucked the gun into the back of his jeans before reaching into his pocket and taking something out.
I cocked my head to the side when he held it out to show me, not understanding right away.
“I have a key.”
It dawned on me that he held a key to my old house. To the house where my sister and niece lived.
“Isabella gave it to me.”
“I don’t understand.” But I did. I just hadn’t come to terms with it yet. I studied him, taking in his features, comparing them to Effie’s. Although she hadn’t inherited his blond hair, she had similar eyes, although hers were warm, innocent. The rest was Isabella, but there was one thing she shared with Dominic: that dimple in her right cheek. That was from her father.
No.
I had to stop this. What was I thinking? I was talking about my sister here. And Effie’s father could be anyone. It wouldn’t be him.
What about the tests?
Nothing was definitive, not yet.
And the key. Why did Isabella give him a key?
“You’re lying. My sister wouldn’t have given you a key.”
“Why not?”
“She hates you.”
He snorted then went to the liquor cabinet and poured himself a drink. “Want one?”
