by Meghan March
“You’re going to cost yourself everything. You won’t walk away clean from this.”
“I don’t care,” he roars. “I’m going to be a thorn in your side for the rest of your fucking life, like you’ve been a thorn in mine!”
My hands curl into fists, and I ask the question burning within me. “Why? And if all you want from me is to change my name, why wait until now? Why not earlier?”
Damon’s face twists into a sneer. “Every time I miss my brother—his birthday, our annual fishing trip, the World fucking Series, every time I see your goddamn picture in the paper, it makes me sick. If you didn’t exist, I’d still have him. It would be a fair trade, in my mind. And since I can’t have him back, it gives me some small measure of satisfaction to know that I can make you even a fraction as miserable as I am for losing him.”
I squeeze my eyes shut for a beat as a wave of grief hits me. Because the man that my uncle still mourns is one I miss just as much, and had even fewer years with.
“There’s something so fucked up about that, I don’t even know where to begin. You need help.”
He chuckles humorlessly. “No one can bring him back. And now you’ve proven that blood will always tell. Your mother was trash, and now you’ve married trash. You’ve tarnished the family name with your stunt, and I’m done sharing it with you. I won’t stop until I win.”
His last statement is a vow, and I know that all the words in the world won’t change his mind. The man has been buried in the grief of his loss for so many years, it seems to have twisted his mind.
So I don’t respond to his dig as I cross the room and rip the door open. My time will be better spent developing a new strategy now that I know what I’m facing. My eyes have reduced to tunnel vision, and I barely notice Elisabetta wringing her hands as I stride for the entrance.
Sliding in the backseat of the Bentley, I tell Michael, “Let’s go home. And hurry.”
Because I sure as fuck didn’t get the answers I came for. No, I got my world rocked, and a completely new identity.
Crey enters the penthouse, and it doesn’t take a genius to know immediately that something is very, very wrong.
“Crey?”
His hair is wild. His eyes are wild. His entire demeanor is wild. I’ve never seen him like this, and it sets my stomach on a high-speed churn.
“What happened? Is it bad? He didn’t take your deal?”
He walks past me to the window and presses a hand to the glass. His forehead follows next. “My father wasn’t my father.” His words are so quiet, I can barely make them out.
“What?” I whisper.
“My mother was pregnant when they met.”
A lifetime of not knowing who my father is has had a massive impact on me, but just learning it? I can’t imagine how much it would throw a person’s world off its axis.
“Oh my God. Do you know who . . . ?”
“Not exactly.”
I press both hands to my face before rubbing upward and dragging them through my hair.
Holy. Crap.
I cross to his side, wanting nothing more than to offer what little comfort I may be able to. His slumped shoulders look like they’re carrying the weight of the world.
“But Damon did tell me he was married, and he was in the Mafia.”
“What!” I don’t mean to yell, but if ever there was a time to yell, I think this qualifies.
Crey pushes off the glass and turns to me. “Yeah. Apparently I’m half Sicilian and not half Greek.”
I study him. “I guess I can see it. But holy shit, Crey. Holy shit. You can’t make this shit up. I mean, holy shit.”
The edges of his lips curl up in the tiniest hint of a smile, and incredibly, he bursts into a laugh.
“Fuck me, I know. Damon said he was a capo, and that was before I was born. He’s probably dead or in prison now. But Jesus fucking Christ. I went to buy back stock in my own company, not a place in the Five Families.”
My eyes feel like they may bug out of my head. I’m sure it’s not an attractive look on me, but I can’t help it. This is so freaking unbelievable.
“This is like real Godfather-type shit, isn’t it?”
Crey shakes his head. “It changes nothing. I’m still exactly the same man. I’m a product of my experiences. The source of my DNA doesn’t change me. And I’m sure as shit not changing my last name.”
“Why would you change your last name?” I’m totally confused now.
“That was Damon’s price to leave me—to leave us—alone.”
“What an arrogant asshole!”
“Calm down, baby,” Crey says, reaching for my hand.
I shake him off. “Fuck calming down. I’m about to go backwoods on his ass. I like my new last name. I may not be using it onstage, but I’m sure as hell not giving it up now.”
Now Crey’s smile threatens to split his face wide. “You are an amazing woman. If anyone had told me that I’d be smiling this soon after having the foundation of my entire existence rocked, I would’ve told them they were insane. Because I remember, with startling clarity, you telling me that I was under no circumstances to call you Mrs. Creighton Karas again, or I’d be at risk of being immortalized in a song about a nutless wonder.”
“You do listen.” I’m grinning now. “And that was purely a matter of your this is my woman, and I own her like property tone at the time that I took exception to. It had nothing to do with your name.”
Crey grabs me and hauls me against his chest. I swear I can feel the tension leave his body as soon as it connects with mine.
“This is what I needed. You. In my arms. God, now I’m really tempted to consider Cannon’s suggestion about taking a hit out on Damon.”
I crane my neck back and look up at him. “That’s the Mafioso blood in you talking now, baby. I like it.”
“Well, right now I just want to forget this entire morning.”
His lips descend on mine, and our mouths meet and devour each other. My tongue finds his and tangles, tastes, and teases. I wrap my arms around his neck and pull myself off my feet before twining my legs about his waist. Crey cradles my ass in both hands and heads for the bedroom.
We’re two steps from the door before a knock interrupts us.
I pull back, but Crey says, “Ignore it.”
“We can’t ignore it. You know it’s Cannon, and if he left the Investor Day festivities, it’s got to be important.”
“You’re more important.”
I wiggle out of his hold and shimmy down his body, stopping to look down at the tent he’s sporting in his suit pants. “How about I get the door?”
Crey shoves a hand through his hair. “Fine,” he says, scowling. “But tell him he’s an asshole for interrupting.”
“I will.”
He’s shaking his head as I turn away and head to the door. I’m still laughing when I pull it open.
I stop laughing, because it’s not Cannon. I have to stop and smooth my hair because I think I’m about to meet my new sister-in-law.
“Crey! What the hell is going on?” My sister bursts into the penthouse, leaving Holly standing with her hand on the door.
“Greer, meet Holly. Holly, Greer.”
Greer spins, holding out a hand. “I’m so sorry. I’m not usually so rude. But normally my aunt doesn’t call me to tell me you’re my half brother and your dad is a mobster.”
Holly takes Greer’s hand and shakes it. “Don’t worry, we’re still absorbing the news.”
My sister rushes toward me, her suit jacket buttoned wrong and her eyes wild. “Seriously? What the hell is going on?”
“It’s okay, Gree. You probably know just as much as we do at this point.” I’m surprised my aunt called her, though. “You said Aunt Katherine told you? That’s shocking.”
Greer shakes her head. “She was damn near incoherent, and I’m assuming near the bottom of a bottle of something. She rambled about never approving of how he treated you, and that you had
no control over what your mother did. Sins of the father; blah, blah, blah. I just needed to make sure you weren’t freaking out and getting ready to kill Uncle Damon or something.”
“I’m still working out a solution,” I say, but the power flashes twice and the entire penthouse goes dark. The overcast sky barely illuminates beyond the windows.
“Well, shit. Now I’m going to have to take the stairs when I leave. Do you have to live on the top floor, Crey?”
“It’ll come back on in a second. The building has a backup generator.” As Holly comes toward me and tucks herself against my side, my tone is wry as I say, “I’m sorry you two had to meet like this. I’d anticipated something a little less . . . dramatic.”
Holly’s soft laugh reaches my ears and calms me further. Even in the midst of craziness, she’s a calm place to land, it seems. “I have a feeling our lives are going to be dramatic for a while.”
“Not mine,” Greer says. “Mine is boring and is going to stay boring. No freaking missed connections gone viral for this girl.”
I raise an eyebrow, although in the dark, Greer can’t see it. Her words make me hope that the boyfriend who I absolutely don’t think is good enough for her won’t last long. If I do have those Mafia ties, maybe we could—
The power flashes back on, and Holly and Greer scream.
“That’s it,” Holly says. “I’m done with New York. People walk through walls here? Hell. No.”
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?”
Holly must be gritting her teeth, because she says nothing.
Dom turns his focus to me and continues. “I understand your hesitance to know anything about my plans for Damon. That’s fine. But my world is not your world. A move like his cannot go unchecked. I stay in my position by exercising iron-clad control over my domain.”
I shake my head. “I want his shares back; I don’t want him dead. The problem with him ending up dead is that I’ll be the prime suspect, regardless of how it happens. We’re in the middle of one shitstorm right now, but it’s a corporate litigation matter. A criminal investigation and potential charges would be a whole different ball game, and I want nothing to do with that. If my stock price has taken a hit from the derivative suit, it’s nothing compared to what would happen if I were questioned in Damon’s disappearance or murder.”
Dom leans back and spreads his arms over the back of the couch, looking every inch the Mafia boss. All he
needs is a stogie and a cloud of smoke to complete the picture.
“You raise a good point.” He brings a hand to his chin and scratches it as flashes of classic mob movies run through my head. “Hmm, you say you just want your shares back? That solves your problem?”
“Yes. The lawsuit goes away if he’s not a shareholder to maintain it,” I explain.
“After the suit has been dropped a while, I’m assuming you don’t care what happens to him?” he asks.
“I didn’t say that. He wasn’t a complete dick to Greer, and it would hurt her to lose him.” I glance at my sister, who has stayed oddly silent on the far side of the room. Her eyes are wide.
Dom looks her way as well. “I assumed that’s who has been watching me so closely. It’s lovely to meet you, Greer.”
Greer uncrosses her arms and nods. “Likewise, I’m sure.” She shocks me by adding, “I’ve seen you before. With the two guard dogs. In Midtown one night when I was leaving work.”
Dom lifts his chin. “You take too many chances with your safety, Ms. Karas. You’ve been lucky my men have been keeping tabs and have intervened on your behalf.”
Holly stiffens beside me, and the color drains from Greer’s face.
“What?”
“I extend my protection to you out of courtesy to your brother because I know it would trouble him for you to be injured. But that’s no reason to be so careless.”
My insides, which have already taken a beating today, once again turn cold.
“Fuck.” I lift my hand from Holly’s and scrub it over my face. “Greer, you’re getting a bodyguard. Don’t argue with me. It’s happening.”
Greer opens her mouth to protest, but I glare her into silence. Her lips snap shut.
“I’m happy to recommend some competent ones,” Dom says, a condescending smile on his face.
“I’ll take care of it, but thank you for the offer.”
Once again, he gives me what I now think of as the Dom nod. “Now about Damon. You’ll have his stock certificate in hand tomorrow. Consider it a belated wedding present.”
He stands and glances at Holly. “I’ll be keeping tabs on your mother, as well. If she gets out of line again, we’ll make sure she’s encouraged to not make the same mistake again. I believe that concludes our business.”
