“Of course.”
“I need your word that no harm will come to Grant. Inside or outside of prison.”
Angelo looked into Joe’s pleading blue eyes, noticing his resemblance to Logan. Logan and Grant had never truly fit into the Italian family because of those blue eyes from their fair-skinned mother. Though Logan sure had tried to make it work as a mobster. “You’re asking me not to seek revenge on my son’s killer?” Angelo asked quietly.
“What good would revenge do, Angelo? You mentioned how many losses we’ve all endured. You in particular have lost so much. Your brother is in prison, your godson is dead, and now your son is gone too. Don’t lose your nephew as well.”
A stabbing pain cut through Angelo’s numbness. Joe was right. But how could he let his son’s murder go unpunished?
A vision swam before his eyes of Carlo at age ten, small and defenseless in that hospital bed, the gunshot wound on his left arm bandaged tightly. Carlo hadn’t been the same since, and truthfully, Angelo hadn’t been the same either. Every time he looked at his son, he thought about his older brother rotting in prison—all because of Carlo’s stupid, childish mistake.
“I know you loved Carlo,” Joe said, cutting through the silence. “But he had Grant and two women at gunpoint—Grant had no choice.”
“Carlo was just trying to motivate him. He never would have killed Grant.”
“You of all people know what Carlo was capable of!” Joe countered. “The detective told you about his confession, right? About what Carlo said to Grant right before he died? Admitting he killed Logan?”
Angelo shifted his eyes away and swallowed guiltily. “Isn’t that convenient? Grant tells the authorities Carlo confessed to killing the man he is suspected of murdering.”
“It’s not only Grant who heard him say that—there are other witnesses too!”
“As if Carlo would kill his own cousin,” Angelo protested weakly, still not meeting Joe’s eyes. He stood abruptly. “I need a drink,” he said. But his journey to the bar was halted when Joe leapt to his feet in a moment of epiphany.
“You knew,” Joe said.
Angelo froze, then slowly turned to meet Joe’s appalled gaze. “Knew what?” he asked, trying to sound casual.
“You knew Carlo killed Logan!”
Fuck. He’d coolly led the detectives to believe he had no idea Carlo was the killer, but apparently Joe could read him more easily than he thought. “Of course I didn’t know that,” Angelo said evenly.
“Save your bullshit for someone else,” Joe seethed. “You could have prevented all of this from happening. You could have turned over your son and stopped the bloodshed.”
Besieged by Joe’s attack, Angelo felt overwrought. He’d been awake all night, and his brain was too muddled to argue with this incensed military man, this man who thought he was too good for the Barberi family.
Angelo was still reeling when Joe yelled, “You knew how evil Carlo was! He pretty much forced Grant to shoot him—it was the only way to stop him! And now Grant has blood on his hands. You could have prevented it all.”
“Shut the fuck up!” Angelo screamed back, feeling his hands furl into fists. “He was my son!”
Joe studied Angelo, ready for his next move. Mario stuck his head in the door, but his boss impatiently waved him off.
Suddenly another image from Carlo’s childhood flooded Angelo’s brain. Remembering Carlo’s handsome, youthful face at his first communion, he felt his fury dissipate, replaced by sadness and guilt. “He was my son,” he repeated, more softly this time. He coughed loudly. Worn out, Angelo slowly returned to his chair and slumped into the leather. He stared at the plush carpet.
Carefully, Joe also resumed sitting, never taking his eyes off the Mafia boss. Angelo sighed and looked up, shooting a dirty look at his guest. “So, that’s the game you’re playing, huh? Either I promise not to pursue Grant or you go to the cops and tell them I knew Carlo killed Logan.”
Joe was surprised, but maintained a cool fa?ade. Eventually he said, “No. I will not blackmail you. That’s your way, not mine.” He sighed. “I came here, man to man, to ask you to do the right thing. Grant is not a ruthless criminal—he never has been and he never will be. And if you coerce him into that role, he’ll get killed. Please. There have been enough deaths already. Please, Angelo.”
There was silence, the only sound the ticking of the grandfather clock. Angelo shook his head, feeling the burden of heading the powerful family. He missed Enzo’s leadership. Enzo would know what to do.
Finally Angelo looked up, and the uncles’ gazes locked. Angelo appeared pained as he pledged, “You have my word that I won’t go after Grant. But if he ends up back in Gurnee, I can’t control Enzo.”
Despite his relief, Joe pressed on. “Why not? You’re the head of the family now, right?”
“You don’t understand Enzo.” Angelo shook his head sadly. “What my father did to him …” His voice trailed off.
“What happened to Enzo?” Joe asked.
It was a rare window of vulnerability, and just as quickly as it had opened, it slammed shut. “None of your business.”
A sharp rapping on the door made Angelo frown. “What?” he yelled.
Mario entered the study. “You got a phone call, boss.”
“Take a damn message!”
“It’s, uh, urgent. She made me come get you. She said it was an emergency.”
Angelo yanked the cordless phone to his ear. “Yes?”
“Ben’s missing!” Ashley’s frantic voice filled the phone line.
“He’s missing? Calm down, Ashley,” Angelo ordered.
His instruction did not diminish her panic at all. “He wasn’t here when I woke up, and I thought he went to school early, but the school said he isn’t there! He’s not answering his cell phone. I’ve called all his friends, but he’s not with them.” She forced herself to ask, “Is he at the compound?”
“Not that I know of, but we’ll look for him. Relax, Ashley.” Angelo handed the phone back to Mario. “Have you seen Benjamino, Meat?”
“No, boss. But he knows the code so he could have snuck in.”
Joe did not like the thought of a sixteen-year-old boy coming alone to this house. “Ben looked really upset at the funeral yesterday. He doesn’t know about Carlo yet, does he?”
“No,” Angelo acknowledged, looking guilty. “I’ll go myself to see if he’s up in his room.”
“I’m coming with you,” Joe insisted. “We’re both his great uncles. I’m worried about him just like you are.”
Angelo narrowed his eyes but did not protest when Joe trailed him out of the study and up the stairs. Meat followed closely behind. They walked down a long, ornate hallway and arrived at a closed door.
“Ben?” Angelo called, knocking on the heavy wood. “Are you in there, son?”