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I walk up to them, stony-faced, and they all stand.

“Rico.” Lorenzo smiles hopefully.

“Olivia is going to work. I want you all with her today.”

“Okay, I’ll send a car with her. I’m staying with you.”

I glare at him, imagining myself breaking his neck. I’m so angry with him, I can hardly stand it.

“That won’t be necessary.” I storm to my car as he follows me.

“Rico, you have to understand—”

I turn on him like I’m the Devil himself. “I understand. I understand everything. You have no loyalty to me or my mother, and I cannot stand the fucking sight of you.”

I turn to continue to my car, and he steps in front of me. “Rico, listen to me.”

“We will have a meeting in the morning to discuss your termination. You are no longer needed,” I growl.

“Rico, I have been loyal to your father for thirty years. You cannot fire me over this.”

My eyes hold his. “My father is dead. If he wasn’t, I would kill him myself today. I’m in charge now.”

I get into the car and slam my door. He bangs on the window.

I exhale heavily as I try to control my anger. I roll down the window. “What?” I growl.

“Go see her.”

I frown.

“Her address is 347 Lakeview Road. Go there, Rico. Please. Go now.”

I clench my jaw and speed off. My anger escalates as I change the gears with a crunch. I fucking hate them all. Tomorrow everyone goes, and I start with new staff.

________

An hour later, I pull the car up and peer across the road. The impressive house is gated, and I can see a security guard inside. I drove around and around as I tried to resist coming here. In the end, I couldn’t.

I needed to see this for myself.

Pain tightens my chest. His other son is guarded. His other life is guarded.

Was it so well known that even our enemies know? Or are they guarded from me?

As I sit and watch, I see a woman and a boy walk down the street toward the house. They’re deep in conversation. She punches in the code to the gate and it opens.

That’s them.

She is blonde… blonde.

She’s wearing tight denim jeans and a navy puffer jacket. She’s in runners, and has on a New York Yankees cap, with her long, blonde, thick ponytail hanging down her back. She’s laughing. She seems carefree.

She takes the football from the boy and kicks it over the fence to annoy him. He says something, and she laughs out loud.

I stop breathing altogether as I watch her. She’s the exact opposite of my mother.

My mother is Italian, with long dark hair. She’s always in designer clothes and high heels. She’s always made up to look gorgeous. A Ferrara to the bone.