Page 26 of The Hidden Heir

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“The Marchetti brothers.”

Mancuso stills, his nostrils flaring furiously. I give him a wry smile.

“You continue to confuse me with my brother, Mauro. I get everything I want, no matter the cost. People, information. Always. Which is why I know you got the Marchetti brothers involved. And why I got to Valentina and her son first. Don’t fucking try me.”

He gets up and sets the cigar aside. It’s not lit yet. I’m hoping I spoiled that pleasure for him. I look forward to spoiling much more.

“I’m aware of the Marchetti brothers, but I still don’t understand what you’re getting at here,” Mancuso says.

Time has not been kind to this man. He’s barely a husk of the giant he used to be. There’s barely a tuft of white hair left on the top of his spotted head, and deep wrinkles draw dark shadows under his milky-grey eyes. His back is hunched slightly, and his fingers are slightly darker in color—a sign of rheumatoid arthritis, if I’m not mistaken.

“Again, you continue to insult my intelligence,” I tell him. “The Marchetti brothers have been on your payroll almost exclusively for over a year. And there is nobody else brazen or desperate enough in this city to try to come after my fiancée except you.”

The corner of his mouth twitches, a mixture of anger and amusement testing his features. “You’ve stolen my grandson, Mr. Petrucci.”

“Not by any legal or biological definition,” I say. “Michael is Stefano’s son. My nephew.”

“And Valentina is my daughter!” he snaps, the fury of his own impotence getting the better of him.

I take a step forward, eager to defy him. He doesn’t frighten me, not in the least. The loyalty of his men keeps me from doing what I’d rather do. I have a woman to go back to—a thought I never thought I’d muster in this lifetime, but survival has become a prerequisite in my line of work.

Mancuso’s guard inches closer, and I give him a sideways glance. “Relax,” I mutter, then look at the old man. “Stepdaughter. Legally, you have no claim over that child, which is why you tried your luck in the alley today. Though I do wonder what the plan was exactly. The child wasn’t with her.”

“I don’t have to explain myself to the likes of you!” Mauro explodes. “You’ve made your point. Now, get the fuck out of my house.”

“Stay the fuck away from my family. And that includes Valentina and Michael. Or I will be forced to take measures.”

“Measures?”

“Measures that will upend your lineage a lot sooner than you might hope.”

Mancuso scoffs and shakes his head in disgust. “Are you really threatening me, boy?”

“With at least one witness present,” I say, nodding at the guard. “All bets are off, Mauro. I’m drawing a line here for the whole world to see. Valentina and I are getting married on Sunday.”

“That ungrateful little bitch.”

“Valentina Peroni is my concern,” I say, raising my voice enough to get the point across. “And so is her son. My nephew.”

Caroline barges into the living room, livid and shaken at the sight unraveling before her. “What is the meaning of all this?”

The guard tries to keep her from coming closer, ready to get physical at any given moment, but she slaps his hand away with a furious scowl.

“Cut it out, Shane!” she snaps. “This is ridiculous!”

“Caroline, stay out of it,” her father warns.

“Like hell!” She takes the very center of the room, positioning herself clearly between her father and me. Shane, the bodyguard, remains speechless on the sidelines, watching and clearly unsure of what to do next.

“This ends here now,” Caroline says. “It’s gone on far too long.”

Mancuso rolls his eyes and resumes his seat by the fireplace, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Oh, for fuck’s sake…”

“No, I’m serious. It’s done, Papa. It’s done. To the victor goes the spoils, as much as you might hate to admit it. Luca played the game, and he won it fair and square. We should show some honor and dignity before we become the laughingstock of the entire fucking city.”

“Caroline—”