It hurt to know that Luciano wouldn’t be given the lavish funeral of Maisano royalty, that he would be buried somewhere besides the family crypt, but Dom was admittedly grateful that he wouldn’t have to stand beside Corrado and pretend he hadn’t been the one to pull the trigger at the orders of the “grieving” father beside him.
Would Corrado grieve his son? Dom suspected he would. After all, killing him was just business. It didn’t mean Corrado liked it. Even if Luciano had betrayed the family enough to sign his own death warrant, the father would still mourn his son. Dom hoped, anyway.
God, grant Luciano that much justice.
*
Heart thumping and stomach sick, Dom walked into Corrado’s office.
His uncle lifted his gaze. Dom stopped in front of the desk. They locked eyes, and neither spoke.
It was done. There was nothing left to say.
Dom fully expected a dismissal, but instead, Corrado cleared his throat as he pushed his chair back. Rising, he said, “We have a meeting, Domenico.”
Dom blinked. “A meeting? In the middle of all—”
“There are things that can’t wait.”
Not even long enough for me to take a fucking shower? I just killed your son!
Hell, why not? Maybe he could kill two birds with one stone. Take a shower and rinse off his guilt and whatever came up during this meeting. With the way things were going these days, he couldn’t imagine this would be a benign discussion about crab pots and cargo ships. Especially if it couldn’t wait until Luciano was cooled and Biaggio was buried.
They moved into the dining room where Corrado held his larger meetings. The room was filled with familiar faces. Somber and serious, every one of them underbosses—the highest ranking members of Corrado’s inner circle. The uppermost echelon occupied most of the chairs around the table. Those lower on the food chain stood behind them.
Conspicuously absent were not only Luciano and Biaggio, but Felice.
Weird…
In front of them, the broad mahogany table was bare. No food had been laid out. No papers.
His uncle indicated an empty seat, which Dom took.
From the head of the table, Corrado cast a sweeping glance at the gathered men. “Now that we’re all here…” He squared his shoulders. “My elder son has betrayed the family. As you all know, I have… taken care of the situation.”
Leather protested as a few men shifted in their chairs.
“What this means is that my heir is dead. And, whether any of us like it or not, we have a war on our hands.”
Dom swallowed. He kept his gaze fixed right on his uncle, but the other men’s scrutiny prickled his skin.
“After the unfortunate events that have happened recently,” Corrado continued, “we have to consider that the family may find itself needing a new leader.”
The other men shifted some more, leather protesting and clothes hissing softly.
Corrado rested his elbows on the table and steepled his fingers as he looked Dom right in the eye. “You’ve come a long way from your father, Domenico. You’re a sane and reasonable leader.”
Oh God. Oh God, no…
“Particularly with Luciano…” Corrado paused, and then shook his head. “Given the current circumstances, in the event that something happens to me, I’m leaving the family to you.”
Dom’s mouth went dry. No. No, please. Not this. Anything but this. Ice cold panic surged through his veins. “I’m… I’m honored, but—”
“You are the best hope for the future of the Maisanos.” Corrado folded his hands and exhaled slowly. “My father and my grandfather worked their fingers to the bone to make this family what it is. I have to make sure that when my time is up, the family remains in good hands. Particularly with this… unfortunate turn of events with my son.”
Dom’s gut twisted. He fought the urge to look around the room. Beneath the table, he rubbed at his hand with his thumb, as if he could get rid of the gun residue that he swore he could feel climbing beneath his skin and into his bones.
“Felice, he’s…” Corrado shook his head. “I don’t know where I went wrong with him, Domenico, but he’s… well, he’s an idiot. He’s impulsive. Can’t be trusted to control himself, never mind lead an organization like this.”
Several men murmured with cautious agreement.
Eyes narrow, Corrado drummed his fingers on the table. “In a few years, if, God willing, I’m still here, Luciano’s son has the makings of an excellent leader. But”—he waved his hand—“Angelo has a lot of years ahead of him before he’s even ready to be made.”
The thought of his nephew going through that initiation—killing a man, being officially brought into this poisonous fold—made Dom’s stomach twist.
Tamping down the sick feeling in his chest, Dom took a breath. “Felice will never stand for this.”
“He will,” Corrado said coldly. “As will everyone in this room.” He gestured at the other men, and when Dom looked around, they all nodded. “My word will be obeyed and respected. I will inform Felice in private after he’s had a chance to grieve for Biaggio and for his brother. Not now. And I’d have waited until we’d all had a chance to grieve, but I can’t ignore the rise in violence now, or my own mortality.”
Dom didn’t know what to say.
Corrado straightened. “Well. Will you accept your place as my heir?”