He shrugs. “I didn’t. I’ve been goin’ easy on him, like you asked. Says he’ll only talk to you.”
It had occurred to me on the plane that Donno might pull that card, so I’ve tried to mentally prepare myself for this moment. The fact is, I know I can’t show mercy. Even though it’s Donno.
Even when he starts pleading for his life.
Giving my brothers a warning scowl, I walk in front of the chair and crouch before the old man. He attempts to smile with bloodied, cracked lips.
“Welcome…home, Armani.”
“Donno. This isn’t how I expected to see you when I got back.”
“I’m sure…it’s not.”
Clayton was true to his word. Donno doesn’t look all that bad, considering. His face is swollen and his lip is split and bloody, but he still has one good eye.
“You know what I’m going to ask,” I tell him.
He grunts in agreement followed by a coughing fit. Standing again, I shrug out of my jacket. My double shoulder holsters are visible, as are the pistols they hold. Crouching again, I rest my forearms on my knees and level him with a blank stare.
“Talk. Please. Don’t make this any harder on yourself.”
A rueful smile curves his lips. “You know this game, Armani. You…know I can’t do…that.”
“You’ve always been like family,” I remind him. “So why don’t we try this the easy way? Name your price.”
He seems to wilt a little with relief. His body goes slack against his bonds as if he’d been waiting to hear those exact words. There are many ways to get information from someone; pain doesn’t always have to be the accelerator. Especially not when it comes to family.
“I only got one grandson,” Donno says. “His mother won’t talk to me no more, you know, me being in the life and all. A cousin told me my grandkid got accepted to Harvard medical…”
“Tuition? Done.”
Donno shakes his head. “No, dammit. No.” He goes silent and when he speaks again, his voice is thick. “Just put a copy of his Harvard diploma on my grave. That’s all I ask.”
Fuck.
“Is that really how you want to play this?” I say.
“Both of us know you can’t let me walk out of here alive,” Donno says. “I’ll talk, but I need your word that you’ll bring me that diploma after I’m gone.”
“You have my word,” I say.
“Jesus Christ,” Marco says under his breath.
He storms past us to pull the heavy cellar door open, then walks out without looking back. The harsh slam of the door shutting behind him reverberates through the room. I can feel it in my chest.
Centering myself, I eye my prey. “Tell me, Donno. What exactly did you give the Brunos?”
“Documents, mostly. Financials. Contracts you’ve made with other families. Outstanding debts owed to you. Things too in-depth to take photos of. Copies were better.”
I take a deep breath, bile burning my throat. “Money is one thing. But there’s more to it, isn’t there? You fed them all the intel they needed to hurt us. For years.”
In the corner, Dante moves out of the shadows and into the light.
“How could you?” he says, his voice full of disgust.
“I never thought you’d get shot, Dante,” Donno says. “At the raid. You wasn’t supposed to get hurt.”
“Whatever that bullet did, it’s nothing compared to the damage you’ve done to me,” Dante says. “Me and my entire family.”
