Nikolai inclines his head.
"As for compensation." Bert 's voice drops. "The expenses incurred in recovering the omega. Medical costs. Lost revenue from the casino operation. Emotional distress, if you want to put a number on it. My family will cover it. Whatever the figure, send it to my office. I will not question it."
"That's generous," Nikolai says. "We'll send a figure."
"And my son." Bert leans back. "My son will apologize. To Mr. Holland directly. Now."
Luca's face has gone through several colors in the last two minutes. What's left is a man in his early thirties who has just been dressed down by his father in front of his rivals and who knows, with absolute certainty, that nothing he says will fix this.
He turns to me.
"Mr. Holland. I apologize for what happened to you. It was a misjudgment."
I look at him. I think about the folding chair and the pleasant smile and the empty eyes and the way he saidI'm a patient man, Theoas if patience were a gift he was offering me instead of a threat he was making.
It's not enough. It will never be enough. But Bert Castellano is sitting at this table offering to pay for what his son did and reaffirming an agreement that keeps two criminal empires from going to war, and I'm smart enough to know that this is the best outcome available.
I nod. “Thank you.”
Luca exhales.
Dom hits him.
It's fast. I don't see his hand move. One moment Dom is sitting beside me with his hands on the table and the next his right fist connects with Luca Castellano's jaw and the sound is sharp and wet, bone on bone, and Luca's head snaps sideways and his chair tips and he catches himself on the table edge, one hand gripping the cloth, pulling it and the silverware and the wine glass sideways.
The wine glass goes over. Red wine spreads across the white cloth.
Luca's two men are on their feet. Viktor is already between them and the table, one hand up, palm out. The room goes very still.
Luca straightens. There's blood on his lip. He touches it with his fingertips and looks at the blood and then looks at Dom.
Dom is shaking his right hand. His knuckles are red.
"That wasn't sanctioned either," Nikolai says.
"No," Dom agrees. He flexes his fingers. "But it was necessary."
Bert Castellano looks at his son's bleeding mouth. He looks at Dom. Something moves in his face that might, if you were generous, be amusement.
"I think we're done here," Bert says. He stands. He buttons his jacket. He extends his hand to Nikolai and they shake, two men confirming a deal that predates everyone else at the table.
Then he turns to me. He takes my hand. His grip is firm and warm and brief.
"Mr. Holland. I hope the rest of your pregnancy is uneventful. If my family can do anything further, you have only to ask."
"Thank you,” I say again.
He leaves. His men follow. Luca stands up, one hand still on his jaw, and walks after his father without looking at anyone. The restaurant door closes behind them.
The three of us sit at the table. Nikolai finally takes a seat. The spilled wine is soaking into the cloth and a waiter is hovering uncertainly by the kitchen door.
"That went well," Viktor says from across the room.
Dom picks up the fallen wine glass. He sets it upright. He looks at me.
"Are you all right?"
"I'm fine. Your hand isn't."
