“Take me home. Now.”
Someone was going to pay for this. But first, I needed to stop my husband from killing half of New York City.
EIGHTEEN
DANTE
Rain fell from the sky in thick sheets, splattering against the cement like bullets, but I felt nothing. Water trickled from the dark curls plastered to my forehead, dripping off the end of my nose as I stalked the streets. For the first time in a few days, I was sober, and I fucking hated it. I might not have been able to feel the rain, but I could still feel the pain in my heart.
My mother’s last gasp of life surrounded me with each raindrop, echoing across the street. I tried to ignore it and forget the vision of blood soaking through her blouse before she dropped into my arms. I tried, but wasn’t successful. I could still feel the weight of her body in my arms, feel the heat from her blood drenching my suit. The light in her eyes died over and over again in my mind, her face permanently frozen in pain and fear.
I remembered it all. Every single fucking detail.
Which was why I was out tonight and had been for the past week or so. I was hunting, tracking down each and every whisper of rumor about anyone that might have had something to do with her murder. I’d caught a few arms dealers who had tried to take credit for the kill. But they soon regretted that. I left their bodies strewn across their front lawns for their families to find the next morning. Now, though, I’d caught wind of a smaller mafia family, one way beneath both the Scaranos and Rosanias. They’d been relatively harmless, keeping out of our way quietly. But now? Now they were becoming too boastful, and it was my responsibility to put them in their place.
Even if they had nothing to do with my mother’s death, they were still trying to take the credit. It was a power move. It was a threat. And it would be exterminated. Giovanni’s death, and my mother’s, was starting to tell other families that they could take us out without consequences, which wasn’t true at all. My father was trying to deal with the fallout quietly. While he didn’t outright disapprove of my actions, he still didn’t want it leaking to the other Dons across the country. His image seemed to matter more to him than his own wife had, and I knew he openly spoke out against my actions this past week.
But I didn’t give two shits about what my father thought anymore. I might have, once. Before all of this, his approval meant everything to me. I’d always believed I would still follow in his footsteps, even if there had been some changes I’d wanted to make when I was Don. But now? Now, he was nothing to me. Absolutely nothing.
A few days ago, he’d tracked me down at The Salamander just as I was tossed out. I still remembered that night perfectly despite being drunk off my ass. I stumbled down the sidewalk, my vision tilting as I tried to remain upright. His car was parked at the end of the street, far enough away from the speakeasy not to be connected to it, but close enough where I’d stumble upon it.
Stepping out into the night, he’d stared at me, disgusted. I just laughed. This whole scenario—the father coming after the lost son—was hilarious to me, considering my father had never given a shit before. I’d always been his pawn, something to move around the chessboard when he needed it. Now, he was finally paying attention, and it was because his son had gone on a murder spree for revenge.
Go figure. If I’d known killing people would get his attention, then shit, maybe I should have done it a hell of a lot sooner. How many times had I dreamed about his praise and attention? How often had I wished that my father would just…be a real father? Be concerned? Caring?
Still, tonight he looked the furthest thing from concerned and caring. Pissed off, sure. But nothing that told me he actually loved me as more than a game piece.
“What are you doing here?” I sneered. “Isn’t it beneath you to track me down?” I laughed again.
Sal’s lip curled. “You’re making a fool out of yourself, which, usually, I wouldn’t give a shit about. But your actions are reflecting back on our family and that—that—I will not stand for.”
“So? What are you going to do about it?” I asked, still laughing. “Kill me?”
“Don’t be stupid,” he snarled. “Quit the fucking act, Dante. You’re embarrassing yourself.”
I stumbled up to him, my finger jabbing him in the chest. “Do you know what they call me now, father?” My words had slurred, but I couldn’t have cared less at that point. “Fucking Dante ‘The Devil’ Scarano. How am I making a fool out of myself, huh? I’m the fucking Devil. And nothing will stop me from avenging her death.” I glared back at him. “Nothing.”
He scowled as I spat at his feet. “You’re pathetic. A fucking waste of an heir.”
“And you’re a coward.”
The slap was unexpected, but it sure as hell sobered me up a bit more. My hand covered the stinging skin on my left cheek.
“You’re not Don yet, boy,” my father snarled. “Watch you’re fucking mouth.”
“Watch your back, old man,” I shot back. “Dons here don’t seem to last very long.”
He’d given me one last, loathing look before slipping back into his perfect car. I watched him drive away, my cheek still stinging from where he’d slapped me. Everything I’d said to him was true. He was a coward. Instead of avenging my mother’s death, he tried to play peacekeeper to my vigilante. Sal should have been the first on the streets looking for her killer. But, because it was most likely connected to the Rosania, he’d stayed in the shadows, wanting to watch how it unfolded.
I knew exactly what he was thinking. Sal was hoping that someone else would link it back to Sienna and take her family down for him. But that’s not what had happened. And I knew it wouldn’t happen. My father was just a coward and a pathetic excuse for a Don. The moment he refused to hunt down my mother’s killer was the moment he was no longer my father.
The one person who kept me tied to that family was now gone. And there was no going back. My ledger was drenched in red, dripping, but I didn’t care anymore. Who was going to judge me? My mother? She was gone. Sienna? She had never trusted me. I was on my own now. Completely on my own. And I fucking loved it.
As soon as my morals had faded away, I realized how freeing it was to not give a shit what happened to me. My kills became that much easier. Before, I’d loathed doing my father’s dirty work. I hated taking a life. But now? I relished it. Especially because they all deserved it. Every single man I’d killed this week had fucking deserved it.
These men tonight? They were just another mark on my list. Another family that didn’t deserve to live.
The warehouse in the center of the city was just up ahead. It belonged to the Roccos, though only bought just recently. I’d learned of the purchase a day ago and had wondered why they needed that much space when their operation consisted of nothing more but street drugs. Tonight, I would find out.