Mateo’s body had been found. It had been left where it could be found. And its discovery had rattled my jailor.

9

Dominic

Rumor has it one of Roman’s men killed Castellano. Franco’s pissed. He’d sworn to protect the Castellano kids or some shit. Can you believe it?

I had to read Isabella’s message twice to understand. To remember.

Mateo’s father had worked for Franco. He’d taken a bullet for him. He’d died saving Franco’s life. I remembered now. I’d heard it later, heard him talking to Roman about it, about taking care of the Castellano family. Making sure everyone knew they were under his protection.

And Roman had Mateo Castellano killed? Why in hell would he have branded him? Why advertise that? Franco would fucking kill him. It made zero sense. If what Gia told me was true, did that mean he’d had his hands in human trafficking? Did the Benedetti family now sell women on the black market?

I took a seat at the kitchen table and pulled up Salvatore’s number. It was time. Hell, it was past time.

I hit Send and listened to it ring. It took everything I had to not hit the End button this time. And when he picked up, his voice so familiar even after all these years, it took me a minute to reply. It took me that minute to get my heart to stop pounding, to get my voice working.

“Salvatore,” I said and waited.

Silence on his end now. Then: “Dominic? Is that you?”

Hearing his voice, fuck, it brought back so many memories. So many emotions. “It’s me,” I said flatly.

“Jesus!”

If ever I could say I heard the sound of relief, now would be the time. As if he gave a shit.

“Where the fuck have you been? I’ve been looking for you for seven fucking years.”

“I’m here. I’m fine.” I paused. “How are you?” It was polite to ask, and I needed to be polite. I needed information.

“Fine. Good.”

“I heard you have two brats running around and a third on the way.”

“You’ve been keeping tabs?”

“Yeah.”

“Two little girls. A boy due in six weeks.” He paused. “They should meet their uncle sometime.”

“Nah.” Fuck. I stood, gritting my teeth. “Better this way.”

“Better for whom?”

I ignored his question.

“And Effie?” he asked.

“Better for her too.”

“No, not fucking better. Where are you? Are you okay?”

I hated the tone of his voice. The authenticity in what he said.

“I’m around, and I’m okay. I needed to go figure out who the hell I was.”

“You’re my fucking brother, that’s who you are.”

“Not so simple.”

“I thought you were dead,” Salvatore said.