“He saved me,” Dante snapped. “He let everyone think he pulled the trigger. I wasn’t a made guy. It was an automatic death sentence for killing a boss without approval from New York, no matter what the circumstances were.”
Mia put her hands to her hips. They’d had this argument again and again over the years, but no matter what she said, Dante refused to accept the truth. “He had to save you because he’s the one who told you to do it. If he hadn’t taken the blame, he would have had no son and heir. I don’t understand how you can excuse what he did, how you can think he cares about anyone except himself.”
“Why are we going over this again?” he snarled. “It’s been ten years. What does it matter?”
“Obviously it matters to the Toscanis or they wouldn’t have started a war.” And, no doubt, it mattered to Nico or he wouldn’t have kidnapped her the other night.
Her cheeks heated, and she looked away. Although it didn’t make sense, she hadn’t told anyone about the kidnapping. Why incite more violence? For some reason, she hadn’t felt threatened by Nico. Why wash the blood off her face if he intended to harm her? Despite his cool composure, she’d sensed passion within him, and a hint of the compassion she’d seen the night Danny died.
“Maybe this can be a chance to mend fences.” She walked over to the huge, floor-to-ceiling window, stared out over the city spread out below. “Since Papà is in the hospital and Don Toscani is dead, you could ask for a meeting with Nico as the new Don Toscani, offer reparations—”
“The Wolf says Nico won’t be the new boss. Tony will be the successor.”
Mia turned and caught a flicker of guilt cross Dante’s face, but it disappeared so quickly, she wondered if she’d seen it all. “Tony Crackers? Nico is the first son of the first son.”
“He’s also a bastard.” Venom laced Dante’s tone, and Mia frowned at his sudden change in demeanor. “His mother was his father’s mistress. There were only daughters from his father’s legitimate marriage. The Wolf says that gives Tony a stronger claim.”
Mia felt a growing sense of unease. She’d heard that Tony survived the shooting, but with his father, the former Don Toscani, now dead, he wouldn’t be forced to go through with the marriage their fathers had arranged. Or would he want to? “Dante…?”
“How do I look?”
Mia pushed her misgivings aside and forced a smile. “You look like a boss.”
“Acting boss until Papà is out of the hospital. And you can be my secret underboss. I’ve got the password to his computer and all the accounts.” His face reddened ever so slightly and he looked away. “I need your help to find a way to free up some cash without Papà knowing.”
“Oh God, Dante. You aren’t gambling again, are you? After Papà bailed you out last time, I thought you were going to get some help.” Dante had had a gambling problem for as long as she could remember, sometimes running up debts so high her father had to send out his enforcers to deal with the bookies who tried to collect. No matter how much Papà threatened, Dante couldn’t stop, maybe because he knew Papà couldn’t disown his only son.
“I was on a roll at the craps table at the Golden Dream, Mia. I’ve never had such a long run. You should have seen the crowd! The atmosphere was electric. And there was this beautiful blonde who would blow on the dice before every roll…”
“I’m not getting involved.”
Dante knew better than anyone how much she loathed the family business, how determined she was to separate herself from her father’s criminal enterprise. There was no way she was getting mixed up in her father’s affairs, especially to feed Dante’s gambling addiction.
“We can talk about it after the funeral.” His voice had a pleading edge that made Mia cringe. Dante became a different person entirely when he was on a gambling high.
“We’ll have to do it another time. I’m teaching a coding class for girls this afternoon at the community center. I have to leave right after the service.”
Dante’s gaze flickered over her floral black lace dress, with its black underlay, deep V-neck and lace sleeves. She’d paired it with knee-high black socks, a pair of thick-soled Doc Martens shoes, and beaded jewelry.
Mia tensed under his scrutiny. Her father never held back on expressing his disdain for her sartorial choices.
“At least you wore black.” Dante held out his hand and Mia let out a quiet breath. He wasn’t entirely his father’s son.
“I always wear black,” she said. “It’s the kind of world we live in.”
*