“But you didn’t.” My uncle sat silent. “You would have killed Salvatore that same day had he been where he was supposed to be. You wormed your way into the heart of the Benedetti family to take what did not belong to you.”

“Dominic, you and I, we’re real family—”

I shook my head. “You are a traitor, Uncle.” Distaste curled my lip. “You betrayed my father. You took his trust, his confidence, his friendship—he believed you to be his one true friend, but you never were anyone’s friend, were you?”

“It’s not—”

“You had his beloved son, your own nephew, murdered. Shot down like a fucking dog.” A hot rage fired my words, and my chest tightened. “You used Sapienti to assassinate him. Why? Why would you do that? Why hammer another nail into an already sealed coffin? Why?”

“It was a mistake, Dominic. Just a mistake.”

“You don’t make mistakes. I know that.” I paused, checking the chamber of the gun.

“Please, Dominic—”

“Where did your balls go, Uncle?” I looked at everyone assembled in the room. “What the fuck happens to these ‘powerful’ men when they sit facing the barrel of the gun rather than cocking it in the face of their enemy?”

No one answered.

“You’ve learned over the last seven years what it’s like to exist just outside, Dominic. To not quite belong. To feel an utter impotence while standing beside the hand that rules the world. You now know what it was like for me all those years. You can’t deny that you know.”

“I have no reason to deny it. You’re right. And you know what, it felt like fucking shit. But I didn’t betray my family over the shit cards I’d been dealt. You played us. You played my father. For years.”

“He’s not your real—”

Someone cocked his gun. I turned to find Salvatore stepping forward, his angry gaze on my uncle.

“You listen, old man. You listen now, and show respect. Sergio didn’t get to see his baby boy. He never got to say good-bye to his wife. To any of us. You took that away. You killed your own nephew,” Salvatore said, rage slicing through the calm. “Now, you listen.” The words were forced through gritted teeth.

Roman swallowed hard, his eyes glistening. Did he feel remorse?

Did it fucking matter?

“Before I kill you,” I said, drawing his attention back on me, “I want to know your involvement with Victor Scava.”

“Let me walk away, leave town, leave the goddamned country. I’ll tell you everything, just don’t—” His voice broke.

Fucking coward.

“Don’t what?” I probed, taunting. Hating him.

“Don’t kill me,” he begged.

“Get on your knees, and beg me not to kill you.”