Page 5 of The Lies We Tell

“You’re making a mistake,” Matteo warned.

“The only one making mistakes here is you. And you’ve been making them since the summer. Since your weak father put a bullet in his brain and you descended on this island like a plague. You should have let your family’s name die out. This last gasp for power will not be remembered kindly by history.”

“The victors write history. And I think we’ll do just fine. I’ve taken down three of you already. What’s one more?”

Antonetti waved a dismissive hand, eyes alight with anger. “You really think these little games you’ve been playing make you a victor? Romano and Varda were already so weak they were practically asking for it. And Gallo didn’t know how to make sure his own mess was cleaned up. I have no such weaknesses. I have nothing but time and money and power.”

“Gallo said much the same, and look how he ended up.” Flashing a smile and pushing to his feet, Matteo slowly buttoned his suit jacket. “I always get what I want, Salvatore. Deliver Drago to me by Friday at five, or I’ll be back to take him by force.”

“Are you threatening me?” Antonetti growled, reaching out a hand to stop his son from advancing.

“No. I’m telling you exactly what’s coming. You can hand him over now, or you can test my patience and my word. It’s up to you.”

Neither Antonetti nor any of his men stopped them as they made their way to the door and back through the winding maze of Antonetti’s villa. Matteo didn’t really want to come all the way back to Syracuse in a few days’ time, but he had a mess that needed cleaning up.

“You really think that was wise?” Luca said, matching his pace to their SUV parked at the edge of the driveway. “Telling him we plan to come back here and raid the damn place?”

They had to dodge around white panel vans unloading linens and place settings and crates of Prosecco and wine. When they finally reached their waiting car, Matteo nodded to the driver, who held the door open for him, and climbed into the backseat. He twisted his watch around his wrist while he waited for Luca to get in the opposite side.

“Considering we wouldn’t be here at all if you hadn’t let Drago slip through your fingers, I hardly think you should be questioning my judgment on how we get him back.”

Luca’s jaw flexed, and Matteo sighed, rubbing his temple with two fingers. His campaign to take Sicily over the last eight months had mostly gone according to plan, but none of it had felt easy.

The first family to fall, the Romanos, were quick to topple. Granted, he could have handled it better with his sister Carina. But he never seemed to be able to do right by her, even before he left.

Varda fell soon after the Romanos were ushered under the Bianchi banner. He’d butted heads with his brother Dom a few times waging that war, but what the fuck else was new? He and Dom had been at odds their entire life.

Gallo had been the messy, complicated one. His money and political connections had hardly paved the way for an easy takeover. And as much as he was still wary of trusting her, Matteo had to admit they would probably still be taking swipes at Gallo if not for the help of his niece, Sienna.

Still, losing Drago had been a complication he had not appreciated. Especially when the man had proven to be relentless in pursuit of information about Matteo that was none of his damn business. Information Matteo hadn’t even shared with his own family.

“Antonetti underestimates us. He always has. I imagine he thinks I’m bluffing,” Matteo explained. “Let him find out the hard way I’m not. Was Sienna able to get anywhere with hacking his security system?”

Luca fired off a quick message and tucked his phone into the breast pocket of his suit jacket. “She and Maeve have been working on it all day. She said they should have an update for us by the time we get home.”

“Good. If I have to come all the way back to this side of the island again, I don’t want to walk away empty-handed.”

Chapter Two

Why did everything always seem to go to hell all at once? Nothing in her life ever managed to go right for long. There was always a bump in the road, a complication, a six-foot-two wrench in her goddamn plans.

Her father stood across the room with his hands tucked casually into his pockets but an evil glint in his eye. The one that said her actions had consequences and now the payment had come due.

He took a step forward, and she took one back. She would not cower, but that didn’t mean she’d forgotten the last time he stepped into her room uninvited with that look.

Not that he ever really waited for an invitation. Or asked for one. She had no rights here. No privacy, no respect, no expectation of human fucking decency.

Things had at least been marginally better before her mother disappeared. Not that her father had put much effort into finding his missing wife. She remembered only a single visit from the police and a handful of stories in the paper. That was it. Then everyone just moved on as if Eliana Antonetti had never existed at all.

That was almost eight years ago now. Eight years of being at her father’s mercy, of dodging his blows and his temper, of fighting not to let him break her. She didn’t know how she’d managed to hold on this long. Sheer stubbornness, no doubt.

“Father, I—”

His gaze snapped to hers, anger sparking in eyes so dark they looked black, and she clamped her mouth shut. He wasn’t ready for interruptions. Even though he hadn’t said anything for several minutes, she’d spoken without permission. Again.

Normally she wouldn’t take quite so much care not to rile him. She’d learned to handle the blows and the barbs. But when he looked at her like that, self-preservation kicked in. That and the memory of the time he broke her ribs.

“I spent a considerable amount of time and money planning your wedding to Dante Gallo. And I spent years before that making matches for you that would benefit us both.”

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