Page 290 of Ricardo

Mario’s gaze sharpens. “Including people useful to Luca?”

Roberto looks up.

The faint smile returns.

“Everyone is useful to someone.”

It is smooth.

Too smooth.

Vito cuts through it. “Some of them are useful to us. Some of them owe us. Some of them dislike the Winthrops enough to become useful.”

There. That's what I like.

Power without polish.

Or rather, polish worn thin enough to show the steel.

I look at Vito and see Luca in him again. However, not merely an imitation, and he's not just muscle either. There's a brain in there.

Mario notices too. I can tell by the way his eyes settle on Vito for half a second longer than courtesy requires. Not with challenge. With assessment.

Perhaps with recognition.

He has sons of his own.

He knows what it costs to turn boys into men who can survive in rooms like this.

My anger has been looking for somewhere to land since last night. Harrison’s face. His throat. His expensive bones beneath my hands. But now, for one moment, something steadies it.

Respect.

I do not want to owe Luca Conti anything.

I may not have a choice.

Roberto folds his hands over the file. “Before we discuss Winthrop, we need the facts from last night. The ones that will not be in a police summary cleaned for public consumption. We understand that two people were attacked last night.”

Mario looks to me.

So does everyone else.

The explanation costs more than I expect.

Not because the details are complicated.

Because saying them makes them happen again.

“Yes. My son and Julia O'Brien,” I say.

“That's Harrison Winthrop's ex-fianceé. Correct?” Roberto asks.

“Yes,” I say, holding my anger in check. It wouldn't do to let it out in front of them. “Julia used to be involved with Harrison, and now she isn't. Julia and Dante returned to her apartment after the gala, and two men were waiting inside.”

“What happened to those men?” Vito asks.

“Dead,” I say.