Page 145 of Seeking Vengeance

Adena—the woman who birthed me.

I clench my teeth against my disdain. “I need to see Emmanuel.”

“I’m sorry but he’s currently in Italy. If you’d like to leave your name and number I can arrange for him to get in contact on his return.”

They don’t know it’s me. They weren’t expecting a visit. Why?

“Maybe Remy didn’t say anything,” Bishop whispers. “You might have been wrong about him.”

Bullshit. That fucker was beyond hostile. He would’ve told someone.

“I know he’s inside.” I speak to the intercom. “He’s going to want to see me.”

There’s a pause, the briefest blip in time where I picture her squinting at the live feed from the security camera pointing my way.

“Who is this?” she asks.

My anger rises at having to use the only name she’s familiar with. “It’s Dante. Now open the damn gate.”

The silence returns, creating a cavernous void where Layla’s loathing grows. I can feel her judgment from the back seat even though those five fucking letters were put behind me when I disowned this godforsaken family.

“Dante?” Adena’s voice fractures. “Is that really you?”

I glare at the security camera, reliving the last conversation we had and hating her more for it as the seconds pass. How she denied what Emmanuel had done to Grace. How she took his side over that of her innocent teenage son.

The gates rattle, the intimidating metal bouncing a moment before they begin to part.

I don’t answer her question. Don’t acknowledge her offensive excitement. I wait until the gate opening is wide enough, then drive into the heart of hell, pebbles crunching under my tires, disgust settling in my gut.

The gardens are different. The shrubs and flowers once littered in the front yard no longer exist. It’s now all perfectly manicured grass. Nothing but unobstructed view to ensure intruders are seen.

“Fucking big house,” Bishop murmurs. “More than enough room to confine our dumb asses for the rest of our lives.”

I ignore him and stalk my gaze along the two-story mansion as we approach, checking for signs of life behind the sheer curtains, both upstairs and below.

The balcony is empty. No potted plants to block the view. No siblings to welcome me home from the wrought-iron railing.

The only sign of life comes from the two guards Whitby spoke of, both of them wearing dark uniforms as they stand at the front steps of the mansion, each of them with a hand at the ready near their holstered sidepiece.

“De Marco, it’s time for you guys to shine.” I pull to a stop a few yards from the front of the house and cut the engine. “Everyone else, stay in the car. Let me get a read on things first.” I unfasten my belt and climb out, slamming the door behind me before Bishop can protest.

The cargo area opens as I walk to the hood, Whitby, Goodin, and De Marco all piling out to take different positions around the vehicle.

Emmanuel’s guards don’t show surprise. They don’t talk or scowl or move. They’re prepared. On alert. Adena might not have anticipated my arrival, but someone did.

I stalk toward them, jaw stiff, lips snarled, and poised to demand a meeting with Emmanuel when Salvatore opens the front door.

“Brother,” he sneers in greeting. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Believe me, I wish I wasn’t.”

“Then leave.” He approaches, passing his two guards to eye the Lincoln. “Is thather? You brought her here?” His hard eyes cut to mine. “Are you fucking insane?”

“Are you?” I counter. “Stealing a kid? Killing a major player in the Portland underworld? Who the fuck have you become?”

“Someone loyal to my family. Which is more than I can say for you.”

I smile, all teeth and anger. “I want to see him. So either wheel him out here if he’s in as bad shape as Remy claims, or we’re going in.”

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