Page 70 of Wounded King
Shared DNA: 521 cM
Notes: Likely linked to M. Carbone through paternal line.
Remarks:
DNA results indicate a high-probability familial connection to individuals residing in Nevada with Sicilian-Italian ancestry. While no direct parental match is currently listed in our public database, results suggestpaternal-side connections to the Carbone lineage, known to originate in Southern Italy and later immigrated to the Las Vegas region.
Las Vegas? I expected to find some relatives in NYC or NY, or on the East Coast. ButLas Vegas? Although, to be honest, it's a possibility. As common as these tests have become, only at most twenty percent of the population have taken them—so there, I'm not the only chicken!
A small adrenaline rush courses through me, and I enter Hank Meade, Las Vegas into Google. Nothing. Next, I try social media, but nothing. Not one hit.
Then, after some hesitation, I do the same with M. Carbone and find one hit.
@MarcoC_LV
Las Vegas, Nevada
Construction. Real Estate. Logistics.
Whiskey | Sicilian Roots | Lake Mead Weekends
163 posts | 1,204 followers | Private Account
Bio:
Family over everything.
Don't DM about work—go through the office.
There are pictures, too. One shows a half-built luxury villa nestled into the desert mountains. The caption reads,Another one going up. Views like these never get old, which makes sense with the construction part of his profile. That thought makes me smile; it looks like we have that much in common. I'm not into building but renovating, but both are a kind of construction, right?
Another picture is an old black-and-white image of an older man wearing an honest to God fedora, standing next to a black Cadillac. This caption reads,Nonno, 1972. Legend. I save the image for a later Google reverse image search and take a moment to scrutinize it. Then I ask Google,If this man is the grandfather of my first or second cousin, would he be my grandfather too? The answer is long and drawn out, but is, in essence, a yes.
My heart beats a little faster while I study the grainy image. The stupid fedora puts half of his face into the shadows, but he looks tall and muscular. Powerful. Like he owns the world. Now my heart stutters, and I shut the laptop closed with a loud click. He resembles Marcello too much. Not in looks. No, not at all, but his stance, thedon't fuck with me attitude.
My hand shakes when I run it through my hair. What if my dad were involved with the mafia? Or on the run from them? Would that explain Mom's insistence on keeping all this a secret?
You're reading too many thrillers…I admonish myself, but my heart is still pounding furiously. So furiously that when my phone dings with an incoming text message, I nearly jump out of my shoes.
For a crazy moment, I think it might be from Marcello, and my stomach flutters in anticipation. But it's from Pippa, my best friend.
Pippa:
Let's do lunch tomorrow
I press the phone against my still erratic beating heart and take a couple of deep breaths. Guilt rushes through me for being disappointed. What kind of friend am I?
Me:
Let's
I need to get out of this house. I need to get back to work. I'm driving myself crazy. Mafia? Come on, that's the most ridiculous thing I've come up with yet. Just because the guy was wearing a fedora and standing in a nice, tailored suit in front of a black Cadillac, that doesn't make him a mafia man. My overactive imagination is just being that: overactive.
Pippa:
Usual place? 1PM?
Me:
