It is a lot to run a company, even one where Louie has chosen his hires well and it is running along on its own. I just want to know the nuts and bolts as well as poke around.
After all, who knows what else is sitting there like his badly laundered money?
And I need dirt on fucking Dom.
So much so, I almost ask Dad.
Almost.
But that is a card I'm not playing, at least until my hand is down to that card.
"Lasagna?" He is being so silky that I almost miss the why.
Dad wants to placate me with Maria's cooking and pump me for information on what I'm up to.
"I can't. Early morning." I could if I wanted. I'm great on very little sleep, but I don't tell him that.
He wouldn't be interested. All he wants is for me to give in and take my place as his successor.
"Don't worry, I will be over Sunday if you're still here."
"I will be in the Hamptons." Dad's voice is tight.
I grit my teeth. "I will be there. For Sunday dinner. That's family night, right?"
"You know it is when we're in the same city." Then he rubs his face, the cigar smoke thick and acrid. "The problem with you is you treat me like the enemy when I have gone out of my way to give you everything, Enzo."
That pisses me off. "Maybe I won't be there on Sunday, after all."
"Maybe Lyndall will be home from school. I would hate to disappoint her..."
"You don't give a shit about her." I look at him. "You know...if only you had given Lyndall half the attention you have given me, you'd have a successor. Or maybe you'd have kids who want to spend time with you."
Dad balls his hands into fists. He approaches and sticks his face close to mine. "You're not too old to be given a beating, Enzo. You need to learn to respect your elders."
I want to laugh, I really do, but I choke it back and step past my father. I don't want to get into a physical fight with him. He is not a young man anymore.
This isn't out of respect.
It is because I'm aware of how vindictive he can be.
And what I feel is anything but respect.
"I will see you and Lyndall Sunday in the Hamptons. Enjoy the lasagna."
Even though it is nothing like a last word, I walk out.
I love wearing suits, but the T-shirt, old worn jeans, and bare feet are just what the doctor ordered. I microwave a high-protein meal and eat it while sitting at the computer, just doing some casual digging into whether I can find any photos online of Emilio and a woman. Any woman.
There are a few, but no real repeat offenders.
And most of them are before shit hits the fan. Still, it is an avenue to pursue.
I pick up my phone to see if Lola has texted Alex, but she hasn't. The last correspondence was Alex being busy, but he would be in touch.
And that was days ago.
It's forever in text years.
