I just watch him. Watch the furrow between his brows. Salvatore’s relationship with his father is different than Sergio’s. Sergio could manage Franco. He was the favorite son. Salvatore and Franco, though, their relations are strained, at best.

He swallows the rest of his whiskey. “Not quite half a year left, and I have to take her. Show the world how powerful the Benedetti family is.” He gets up, pours himself a second, generous glass full. Drinks half of it before turning to me. “I’m to break her. Destroy her.”

“There’s no way out—”

“No.” He cuts me off with an ugly snort. “There’s no way to do anything,” he spits, finishes his drink. Pours another glass and swallows that too. “In six months’ time, I’ll own the DeMarco Mafia princess. I’ll take her from her tower, bring her to my home, and I’ll punish her for being born a DeMarco. I’ll bring her to her knees to bury her father’s nose in the dirt.”

I go to him. “Salvatore,” but what can I say? I have no advice, no comfort to offer. I know the DeMarco bargain. It’s a devil’s bargain made by Franco Benedetti, to be executed by his succeeding son. “At least it’s not Dominic,” I say.

He looks at me. Shakes his head. “Do you know what he did to her? What my father ordered when the girl was sixteen? Fucking sixteen years old. A child.”

I don’t want to know.

“He had her tied to a cold steel table. Had her legs pried apart and had a doctor confirm that her virginity was intact.”

“Christ.”

“While her own father was made to watch.”

“Salva—”

“While I stood by and did nothing,” he spits, his tone harder. “Not a goddamned thing. Fuck. I couldn’t even look at her. It made me sick. Or it should have. But you know what?” He walks away, so his back is to me. “It made me hard. It made me fucking hard.”

I watch his back, big broad shoulders, muscular arms. He’s built like Sergio. Powerful.

“I am my father’s son. A monster. Like him. Maybe worse.”

“No. No, that’s not true.” I try to take the drink from him, but he won’t let me.

“I’ll be her monster.”

“Salvatore, you don’t have to—”

“Yes, I do,” he says too loudly. “I do have to. That’s the point. I will take the girl. I will break the girl. It’s my duty.”

The monitor goes off then. Jacob’s fussing. He probably hears us, his room is just down the hall, and Salvatore isn’t being quiet.

“Shit,” Salvatore says, realizing. “I’m sorry.”