Let Me Love You (70)
“Enzo!” Constantine’s deep voice, and the harsh rap at the door, throttled me free from the moment. I shivered at the realization of what was about to happen, that Enzo would be leaving me. “Dad’s home. We need to talk to him, and then it’s wheels up.”
TWENTY-FOUR
Enzo
“This is un-fucking-acceptable!” Dad bellowed, chucking his glass of scotch into the fireplace before pacing his office. My brothers and I remained quiet, waiting for him to continue.
“The evidence was stacked against him,” Dad continued, struggling to grapple with everything we’d shared. “You’re telling me for thirteen fucking years my daughter’s murderer has been walking the streets?”
Dad’s attention landed on Constantine. As the eldest son, he would have inevitably taken the brunt of Dad’s anger. “This is my fault. I should’ve looked deeper.” He stepped forward, his apology doing nothing to alter Dad’s vicious stare.
Facing the fireplace again, Dad’s shoulders broke forward, a touch of that vitriol pointed at my brother waning. “What’s your plan?”
Taking the lead, Constantine explained how we planned to meet up with Carter’s team in Syracuse to take the cleaner in for questioning. “We’ll figure this out, you have my word.” He glanced at Alessandro, then over at me. “I know Mom never wanted us to follow in your footsteps after you left Italy, but I suppose it was fate that we did. We may have let you down, but we—”
“It wasn’t fate.” Dad sighed and went over to his desk. He dropped onto the leather swivel chair, his eyes coasting back to the raging fire.
“I didn’t mean about Bianca’s death,” Constantine quickly stated, his tone harsh with regret.
Dad waved a hand in the air, an apologetic frown on his face. “What I meant is you followed in my footsteps because I put you on that path.”
My arms fell to my sides as I stepped forward, Alessandro mirroring my actions. Did we just hear him right?
“It was my idea.” He reached for a new glass on his desk and poured himself another drink. “I called in a favor in Washington. A big fucking favor, borderline blackmail.”
“You’re telling me you arranged our ‘get out of prison’ deal? You’re why we became mercenaries for the government? Taking kill-or-be-killed-type orders on missions from that shadowy group that made the CIA look like the Boy Scouts?” I hadn’t realized I’d walked all the way to his desk and planted my hands on it, but there I was, ready to square off with my old man.
“I wasn’t about to let my sons rot in prison for doing the right thing.” He sipped his drink, eyes falling to the amber-colored liquid, and he swirled it around. “I didn’t expect you all to become like me in other ways. Seeking justice in our own city.”
“How could you not expect that?” Alessandro snapped, and I looked back to see him throwing his hands in the air. “We’re your sons. It’s in our blood. Of course we’re going to wind up like you, especially when you put us on the same damn path.” He turned and dragged his hands through his hair. “I’m an addict, Dad. A fucking addict.” He whirled back around. “I’m addicted to the hunt. To the chase. Nothing satiates it. Not women. Jumping from planes. Fast cars. Nothing.” He pointed to his skull, appearing to be on the verge of some type of breakdown. “I’m fucked up, Dad, don’t you get it?” He pointed at me, then Constantine. “Fuck, all of us are. You should’ve let us do our time in prison!” And then he stormed from the room and slammed the door shut behind us.
Holy shit. I knew my brother missed that life, but . . . damn.
“Is it possible you pissed off the wrong people and they killed Bianca as retribution?” Constantine finally asked, interrupting the silence that had hung in the air since Alessandro left.
His question had my father on his feet and throwing his second drink into the fire, just missing Constantine’s head.
“Absolutely not.” Dad circled the desk and set a hand to Constantine’s chest, and although Dad was shorter than him, he stared at Constantine as if letting him know he was still the man of the house. The one in charge. But was he really? I wasn’t so sure.
My father didn’t intimidate or scare me, not anymore. He may have chosen our destiny thirteen years ago, but I wouldn’t let him dictate my future.
“I need air. And we should go soon,” was all I said before leaving Constantine to face off with our father.
I went to the guest room to change into what I’d wear tonight, then sought out Maria, the only one capable of calming the storm inside me.
She was on the phone with Chiara when I found her, and I quietly shut the bedroom door. She had on a fluffy white robe she’d probably found hung up in the bathroom, thanks to my mom’s attention to detail. The thing practically swallowed her up in the heavy fabric, and fuck if I didn’t just want to take it off her and walk my mouth over her naked body, sucking and kissing every inch of her.
That’s what I wanted to do. But what I needed to do was go infil a CIA safe house and interrogate a man, taking him to near death to find out who really killed my sister.
Maria ended the call and set the phone on the bed. She slowly took inventory of my current look of head-to-toe black. Combat boots, cargo pants, a dark tee and backward ball cap. It wasn’t exactly a look she was used to seeing me wear, and yet, aside from my chef’s coat, I preferred it to a suit.