“Dominic?” my father asked, some of the color drained from his face.

I freed myself of the men who held me and stood. “I have just one message for you.” My voice came low and deep. “Stay away from Natalie and Jacob, or God help me—”

“Dominic!” my father snapped.

I walked out, shaking out of the hold of one of Dominic’s men. “I’m leaving. Keep your hands off me.”

“Did you lay a finger on Sergio’s boy?” I heard my father ask.

I didn’t look back. I walked out the door and back to my car, satisfied with having beaten Dominic, but not quite trusting that my threat would keep Jacob and Natalie safe.

As I started the engine and turned the wheel, movement at the front door caught my attention. It was Patricia. She glanced behind her several times as she made her way toward me. I rolled down my window.

“Mr. Benedetti.” She was out of breath.

“Yes?”

“Your uncle asked me to give this to you.” She slipped a note to me and quickly backed away from the car.

“Thank you, Patricia,” I said absently as I unfolded it and read the brief, hurriedly written note: Dominic visited Isabella DeMarco late last night, just before your arrival there.

Dominic was there? I’d gone inside—well, I’d gotten as far as the foyer. Did Lucia know Dominic was there and keep it from me? And did this confirm my growing suspicion?

16

Lucia

I woke suddenly, sucking in a breath, my throat incredibly dry.

Looking around, I remembered where I was, remembered the night before. I lay in Salvatore’s bed, his scent still on his pillow, the indentation where his head had been now containing a small piece of paper.

Unfolding it, I read:

I need to take care of some business. I will be back this afternoon. I have Marco’s phone, and I’ve programmed the number into yours in case you need anything.

Salvatore

I set it down and closed my eyes, feeling sheepish at what I’d done, dropping his phone into the toilet.

But now, I had to face the thing that had woken me, as unbelievable as it was. I wished I’d kept my father’s note rather than throwing it away. At the time, I’d been so upset.

My father had committed suicide because he couldn’t live with the decisions he’d made. Because he hadn’t been able to come to terms with the fact that when I turned twenty-one, Salvatore would claim me as his. Did he have any idea how that letter would make me feel? Did he know he laid more guilt on my shoulders with that letter than he had in signing the contract that bound me to the Benedetti family?