Page 38 of Cara
There are no tears, no anger, no pain. I am utterly soulless. I have to be to feel nothing in this moment.
“How you doing?” Dante asks as if reading my mind.
My gaze shifts to the tree line where another gravestone rests, one I avoid at all costs—the grave of a man my wife once loved.
The memories are fleeting, a distorted blur I wish I could forget. Digging in the dead of night, exhuming Thomas Ritchey’s rigid corpse from an unmarked location into a coffin before burying him on our grounds. It wasn’t until after my father was gone that I had his initials engraved on the stone.
I told myself I did it for Sophie. In truth, it was also for me. For my own conscience.
“I'm fine,” I lie, turning back towards the empty house.
“Dominic Strata is a problem.”
A conference table is cluttered with food, drinks, various documents. Dario is the only one with a laptop in front of him. My consigliere rotates the screen to reveal the face of thebastard, along with the villa he inherited in Sicily, as well as a newly acquired waterfront property in Miami.
“What are we looking at here?”
“New money straight from Italy. He’s only recently broken into the powder business here. Still, he doesn’t have our kind of men or pull, but his men are loyal. His security is why none of us have been able to crack Vito.”
“His family?”
“He was something of a black sheep. Lived in filth until his bro got hit and his father called on him. With his father gone, he went from filth to riches overnight. Over the last couple of years, he’s made good use of that wealth. The guy’s cut-throat. He typically gets what he wants.”
Gabriel leans back. “So, what’s our best option here? Boss? What do you want to do?”
“Get a team in Florida by tomorrow. I want someone monitoring Vito’s every move. If he leaves that compound, I want to know it.” I take in the face on the computer, memorizing every detail. Every scar and blemish. “Where’s Strata now?”
“He’s here, I heard. Probably scoping us out, too. Are we requesting a meeting?”
“We aren’t requesting. Tell Strata I want a face-to-face, and I want it on our territory.”
Dario nods, closing the computer. “Put Willie on Florida. Gabriel, you find Strata.”
Once they’re gone, Dario glances at me, leaning his arm into the chair. “What do we want out of this?”
“I want Vito. By any means necessary.”
“You look exhausted.”
At Bo’s observation, I shake my head, as if refusing it willsuddenly make it true, lifting the glass to my lips. My eyes close, wanting to stay that way, but I push them open, stretching out my legs.
The ground vibrates as strobe lights flash over the exclusive area of the club. Dante is chatting with the bartender on the other side of the lounge. Dario and the others are conversing over cigars, filling the room with smoke.
“Just a lot going on,” I say.
“Want to talk about it?”
I give him a sidelong look, my mouth curving. "If I don’t, you're left with plausible deniability.”
“I don’t give a shit about that. I’d never talk anyway.”
My gaze shifts to Gianni as he unclips the rope. Bo’s brows soar as five women emerge from the cloud of smoke, hailed by the group. Familiar with their vices, I ignore them as they tug the women onto their laps. Bo isn’t so unfazed. Rising from his chair, he sits beside me, reaching for a glass. I smirk, reassured by my decision to keep him as far away from this as possible. They aren’t made for this.
Neither are you.
Bo leans back. “How’s Isabella?”
“She’s good. I get to see her on Sunday. She turns three in November.”
