to his face. Right before he’d instructed his minion to throw him out and make sure he never returned. That he didn’t care whether the spawn of the whore he’d rutted with in an alleyway in Palermo lived or died, as long as he, Agostino Fattore, the head of the ruling crime family, didn’t have to see the boy’s face again.
No...not his father.
The man didn’t deserve that title.
Romeo’s hands tightened on the steering wheel of his Ferrari and he wondered for the thousandth time why he’d bothered to come to this place. Why he’d let a letter he’d shredded in a fit of cold rage seconds after reading it compel him into going back on the oath he’d made to himself over two decades ago. He looked over to the right where the towering outer wall to the late Agostino Fattore’s estate rose into the sky, and sure enough, the bush was exactly as he remembered it, its leafy branches spread out, offering the same false sanctuary.
For a wild moment, Romeo fought the strong urge to lunge out of the car and rip the bush out of the earth with his bare hands, tear every leaf and branch to shreds. Tightening his jaw, he finally lowered his window and punched in the code his memory had cynically retained.
As the gates creaked open, he questioned again why he was doing this. So what if the letter had hinted at something else? What could the man whose rejection had been brutally cold and complete have to offer him in death that he’d failed so abjectly to offer in life?
Because he needed answers.
He needed to know that the blood running through his veins didn’t have an unknown stranglehold over him that would turn his life upside down when he least expected it.
That the two times in his life when he’d lost control to the point of not recognising himself would be the only times he would feel savagely unmoored.
No one but Romeo knew how much he regretted wasting the four years of his life after the bitter night he’d been here last, looking for acceptance anywhere and any way he could find it. More than hating the man whose blood ran through his veins, Romeo hated the years he’d spent trying to find a replacement for Agostino Fattore.
Giving himself permission to close his heart off at seventeen had been the best decision he’d ever made.
So why are you here? You’re nothing like him.
He needed to be sure. Agostino might no longer be alive, but he needed to look into the heart of Fattore’s legacy and reassure himself that the lost little boy who’d thought his world would end because of another’s rejection was obliterated completely.
Impatient with himself for prevaricating, Romeo smashed his foot on the accelerator and grunted in satisfaction as the tyres squealed on the asphalt road leading to the courtyard. Unfolding himself from the driver’s seat, he stalked up to the iron-studded double doors and slammed them open.
Striding into the chequer-tiled hallway, he glared at the giant antique chandelier above his head. If he had cared whether this house stood or fell, that monstrosity would have been the first thing in the incinerator. But he wasn’t here to ponder the ugly tastes of a dead man. He was here to finally slay ghosts.
Ghosts that had lingered at the back of his consciousness since he was a child but that had been resurrected one night five years ago, in the arms of a woman who’d made him lose control.
He turned as slow feet shuffled in his direction, followed by firmer footholds that drew a grim smile from Romeo. So, the old order hadn’t changed. Or maybe the strength of Romeo’s anger had somehow transmitted to Fattore’s former second in command, prompting the old man who approached to seek the protection of his bodyguards.
Lorenzo Carmine threw out his hands in greeting, but Romeo glimpsed the wariness in the old man’s eyes. ‘Welcome, mio figlio. Come, I have lunch waiting for us.’
Romeo tensed. ‘I’m not your son and this meeting will not last beyond five minutes, so I suggest you tell me what you withheld in your letter right now and stop wasting my time.’ He didn’t bother to hide the sneer in his voice.
Lorenzo’s pale grey eyes flared with a temper Romeo had witnessed the last time he was here. But along with it came the recognition that Romeo was no longer a frightened little boy incapable of defending himself. Slowly, his expression altered into a placid smile.
‘You have to pardon me. My constitution requires that I strictly regulate my mealtimes or I suffer for it.’
Romeo turned towards the door, again regretting his decision to come here. He was wasting his time looking for answers in stone and concrete. He was wasting his time, full stop.
‘Then by all means go and look after your constitution. Enjoy the rest of your days and don’t bother contacting me again.’ He stepped towards the door, a note of relief spiking through him at the thought of leaving this place.
‘Your father left something for you. Something you will want to see.’
Romeo stopped. ‘He was not my father and there’s nothing he possesses in this life or the next that could possibly interest me.’
Lorenzo sighed. ‘And yet you came all this way at my request. Or was it just to stick out your middle finger at an old man?’
Romeo’s jaw clenched, hating that the question he’d been asking himself fell from the lips of a man who’d spent his whole life being nothing but a vicious thug. ‘Just spit it out, Carmine,’ he gritted out.
Lorenzo glanced at the nearer bodyguard and nodded. The beefy minder headed down the long hallway and disappeared.
‘For the sake of my friend, your father, the Almighty rest his soul, I will go against my doctor’s wishes.’ The remaining guard fell into step behind Lorenzo, who indicated a room to their left.
From memory, Romeo knew it was the holding room for visitors, a garishly decorated antechamber that led to the receiving room, where his father had loved to hold court.
The old man shuffled to a throne-like armchair and sank heavily into it. Romeo chose to remain standing and curbed the need to pace like a caged animal.
Although he’d come through the desolation of his ragged past, he didn’t care for the brutal reminders everywhere he looked. The corner of this room was where he’d crouched when his father’s loud lambasting of a minion had led to gunshots and horrific screams the first time he’d been brought here. The gilt-framed sofa was where his father had forced him to sit and watch as he’d instructed his lieutenants to beat Paolo Giordano into a pulp.
He didn’t especially care for the reminder that it was possibly because of Fattore’s blood running through his veins that he’d almost taken the same violent path when, tired of living on the streets, he’d almost joined a terror-loving gang feared for their ruthlessness.
Sì, he should’ve stayed far away, in the warmth of his newest and most lavish by-invitation-only Caribbean resort.
His eyes narrowed as the second bodyguard returned with a large ornately carved antique box and handed it to Lorenzo. ‘It’s a good thing your father chose to keep an eye on you, wasn’t it?’ Lorenzo said.
‘Scusi?’ Romeo rasped in astonishment.
Lorenzo waved
