Chapter 3
I laughed.
Not because it was funny.
Because for several seconds, it was the only reaction available to me.
“Who told you that?”
Peter looked at Damian.
Everyone did.
Damian's jaw tightened.
“You've changed.”
There it was.
Not an answer.
An accusation.
“How?”
“You used to understand what came first.”
“My children?”
“The house.”
I walked around the table.
“Those children are the house.”
Marguerite scoffed.
“That is exactly the problem.”
I stopped.
“Explain.”
She stood.
“The Vescari family used to have rules.”
“We still do.”
“No.”
She pointed toward the sitting room.
“You cancel meetings because Faye has a fever.”
“Yes.”
“You left a gathering last month because Della fell at school.”
“Yes.”
“You refused to move against the Marzano crews because Beckett was with you that weekend.”
That one interested me.
I looked at Damian.
“You told her that?”
Damian shrugged.
“It wasn't secret.”
It had been.
Only six men knew why I delayed that meeting.
And the reason had not been Beckett.
I simply had not liked the situation.
Using my son as the explanation made me look weak.
Convenient.
“How long have you been telling people my children interfere with decisions?”
Damian looked at me.
“Long enough for people to notice.”
I glanced toward the seven raised hands.
“Is that what you think?”
Elaine lowered her eyes.
One capo, Francis, finally spoke.
“We were told you were considering stepping away.”
“By whom?”
“Damian.”
I looked back at him.
He spread his hands.
“You've talked about spending more time with them.”
“I am their father.”
“And you are also Anthony Vescari.”
There was something in his voice.
Not jealousy.
Expectation.
He had been waiting for me to become one thing or the other.
That was when Beckett appeared in the doorway.
He had finished eating.
“Dad?”
I softened immediately.
“What is it?”
He looked at Damian.
Then at me.
“Can I tell you something?”
“Always.”
He walked over.
Small shoes against marble.
He looked embarrassed.
“Uncle Damian said if we told you about dinner, you'd have to leave.”
Every adult in the room froze.
I crouched.
“When?”
“Last Sunday.”
My chest tightened.
“What exactly did he say?”
Beckett thought carefully.
“He said you could be our dad or everybody's boss.”
Damian's face changed.
There it was.
The real sentence.
I looked at my son.
“And what did you say?”
His eyes filled.
“I said I wanted you to be my dad.”
That hurt more than anything else that night.
I placed a hand behind his head.
“You never have to choose that for me.”
He nodded.
I kissed his forehead.
Marco led him back to his sisters.
When the door closed, I turned toward Damian.
“You used my children to pressure me.”
“No.”
“You told them they'd lose their father if they complained.”
“I told them there were consequences.”
“For being hungry?”
“For interfering.”
Something inside me went quiet.
Very quiet.
Marguerite stepped forward.
“We were trying to make you see reality.”
“No.”
I looked at the seven people who raised their hands.
“You were trying to make my children afraid of telling me the truth.”
Nobody answered.
Then Francis spoke.
“That's not all.”
Marguerite snapped:
“Francis.”
He ignored her.
“Damian told us the dinner was a test.”
I stared at him.
“A test of what?”
Francis looked around the room.
“Who would stand with the family…”
He swallowed.
“…if you chose your children over us.”
I looked at the hands that had gone up.
A test.
Not an opinion.
A count.
Then I understood why Damian had attacked me.
May you like
The moment I asked who agreed, I had turned his secret loyalty test into a public list.
And seven people had volunteered their names.
