I stiffen and pull Holly closer as my gaze lands on three men standing inside the doorway. They’re all imposing, but the one in the center draws my eye.
The likeness is eerie, but not identical, and yet I feel as if I’m staring into the eyes of a much older version of me. About thirty years older, if I have to guess. He has gray eyes, where mine are dark, and I have my mother’s fairer skin, instead of his deep olive tone. But the facial features are all there. He’s flanked by two men in suits. Bodyguards.
His inspection of me is just as close.
“Creighton.” His voice is deep and gravelly, also very much like mine, but with a hint of an accent.
“You sure know how to make one hell of an entrance,” I say. “I believe I’m at a disadvantage. I know who you are, but not what your name is.”
The man steps forward, and the suits move with him.
“Domenico Casso. Dom. And yes, I’m your father.”
Just like they did in Damon’s study, all my unconscious reactions become conscious. Every pint of blood pumping through my veins. Every cubic inch of oxygen flowing through my lungs. Every contraction of every muscle.
He holds out his hand and I shake it, noting the surreal quality of it all.
I’m shaking my father’s hand.
“How did you—?” I don’t even finish the question.
Apparently he knows not only where I live, but how to cut the power, get up to a penthouse apartment without permission, and that I just learned of his existence. And that’s really fucking creepy. If I learn he can read the thoughts going through my brain at this moment, I’m not sure I’ll be all that surprised.
“Elisabetta.”
“What?”
“She’s kept tabs on you for years. The whole of your life that you’ve lived with your aunt and uncle. She’s one of my people.”
The glimpse I got of her wringing her hands filters back through my brain, along with her quiet kindness to me during my childhood. “Elisabetta is on your payroll?”
He nods. “May we come in?”
I have a feeling there’s not much of a real question there. They may have helped themselves to entering, but it’s interesting that he’s maintaining a pretense of manners. This man makes his own rules.
Maybe the apple doesn’t fall so far from the tree, after all.
I step back. “Please do.”
They file in, and I lead the way to the seating area. When the two men remain standing behind the couch he chooses to sit on, my question comes of its own accord.
“Damon said you were a capo.”
Another nod from Domenico. Dom. My father.
“That was a long time ago. I’ve . . . moved up in the family. CEO, if you will.”
“Not surprising,” Holly whispers, settling beside me on the couch opposite from him.
Dom’s gaze lands on her, and he smiles before shifting back to me. “I was happy to hear you found yourself a good woman. Although perhaps a little surprised by how you went about it.”
My eyes narrow. “Have you really been keeping tabs on me my whole life?”
He purses his lips and seems to be choosing his words carefully. “Not the first ten years. You were beyond even me then, and you had your parents. But after they passed away and you came back to New York? Yes. I’ve made sure to keep tabs.”
“But why?”
“Because whether you knew it or not, you’re my son.”
The million-dollar question burns within me, and I have to ask. “Would you ever have told me?”
He lifts his chin and takes a breath, studying me. It’s obviously not the first time he’s seen me, but I wonder if he’s ever seen me this close in person. We could have passed each other on the street dozens of times, and I would have never realized. Trying to comprehend this is like trying to learn string theory on a napkin in a bar after drinking a dozen pints of Guinness.
He shakes his head decisively. “No. I never would’ve told you. But now that Damon has run his mouth, I had no choice but to intervene.”
“An inconvenience, I’m sure,” I say, my tone dry.
“One I was ready for. I’m actually surprised he’s held it in this long. Elisabetta has been waiting twenty-some years to make this call. But the timing works in your favor, as well as mine.”
“What do you mean?” If he’s talking in Mafia code speak, I’m not following.
“He used his connections a long time ago to get information he should never have had. I knew he had it, and as long as he did nothing with it, I would do nothing with him. But he’s broken the balance, and it must be righted.”
Holly stiffens against my side, her hand landing on my knee and squeezing. “I’m sorry, Dom. We’re going to need to rewind the last thirty seconds and pretend we didn’t hear that.”
I cover Holly’s hand with mine. “I think you should go in the other room.”
Her nails dig into my leg. “Not a chance.”
One of the bodyguards snorts, but silences it immediately.
“Holly—”
“Crey—”
“Children, children,” Dom says. “The last thing I want is to cause marital strife. After having thirty years with my own wife, I can understand that these early days are delicate.”
Holly shoots a glance at him, and I know exactly what she’s thinking.
“Holly.”
“Crey.”
Dom smiles. “Yes. I know what she’s thinking, as well. And no, I wasn’t faithful to my wife. I should regret that, but then your husband wouldn’t exist. So, Mrs. Karas, how would you like me to respond?”