Page 55 of The Don’s Omega

Relief flashes across his face as I stand and take the folder from him. “Oh, and Dario.”

“Y… yes?” he stammers.

“If Tomaso or anyone finds out that you showed me this, your brother’s gambling debts will be the least of your worries.”

Dario nods. “Of course, sir. I won’t tell a soul.”

“Good boy.” I smile and leave his office.

****

Once I have what I need from Dario, I return to where I’m keeping Renzo. When I go downstairs, Renzo is half unconscious from blood loss. That’s a blessing for him. I’ve been gone a long while, and his fate is already sealed.

I lightly smack his cheeks to rouse him. “Hey, Renzo, wake up.”

He blinks up at me, looking confused. He glances around and his face changes as memories return. But he doesn’t speak. He simply looks resigned.

“It seems you told the truth,” I say gruffly. “As I already said, you’re a dead man, but I promise you, your family will be safe. I won’t touch them and I won’t let anyone else touch them either.”

“Thank you,” he mumbles.

I get behind him and swiftly draw the blade across his throat. Quick, deep, precise. The blood comes fast, dark and heavy, running over my gloved hand and down the front of his shirt. He makes a sound, a wet, gurgling exhale, and then his body goes slack. The chair creaks as his weight settles.

I clean the knife at the sink and watch the pink water swirl down the drain. I text Carlo so he can have a few men dispose of the body and hose down the room. Me, I’m heading home. I got the information I needed, now I have to figure out what to do about it. I know what I want to do about it, but I have to be strategic.

It’s after 10:00 p.m. by the time I get home. I nod to my men at the gate as I drive onto the estate. The house is dark except for some exterior lamps along the drive. I pull into the garage and sit in the car for a few minutes, hands on the steering wheel. I let the silence settle over me as I consider what I should do next about Valentina.

There’s no easy answer, so I go inside and up to my room. I strip out of my bloody clothes and take a hot shower, still mulling what to do about Valentina. If I handle her the way I’d handle anyone else who came after Elio, Valentina will be dead by morning. But something is making me hesitate. While I’m not an overly sentimental person, I always liked Valentina. She was always good to me. Coming after Elio like she did is unforgivable, yet executing her feels wrong.

Perhaps my hesitation comes from the fact that, while I’m pissed at her, I also understand her. If I strip away all the layers of why she did what she did, I find a mother protecting her son. A woman who watched her boy be humiliated and decided to take matters into her own hands. To be honest, it’s the kind of thing Mama would do. Only, hopefully, she’d hide her trail better.

I’m stepping out of the shower when my phone rings. It’s Carlo.

“Sandro is at the gate,” he says. “He wants to see you.”

I frown. “Why?”

“He wouldn’t say, but he looks rough.”

I sigh. “Let him through.”

I dress and go downstairs to my study. I pour a bourbon and sit behind my desk and wait. When Sandro appears in the doorway, he looks nothing like himself. His hair is uncombed and his shirt is wrinkled as if thrown on in a rush. His eyes are swollen and red, and his hands are shaking.

“Thank you for seeing me.” His voice is raw, barely controlled.

“Come in. Sit.”

He does as I ask, sitting in a chair in front of the desk. He’s come to my home many times over the years, but things are different now. We’re no longer together. He’s no longer the omega I have to protect. Elio is. Still, seeing him so upset doesn’t please me. I do still care about him.

“I don’t even know where to begin,” he whispers. His hands tremble as he runs them through his hair. “My… my mother is too proud and stupid and she did a terrible thing, Marcello.” Tears streak down his face and he looks distraught. “I don’t know what to do.”

Maybe I’m getting soft in my old age, but his tears bother me. I get up and go to him. When I put my hand on his slender shoulder he starts to sob and I grimace. “It’s okay, Sandro.”

“No it’s not,” he whimpers, wiping at his eyes. He looks like he’s aged a decade since the wedding. “You don’t know what she’s done, Marcello. I don’t know what to do. I’m afraid when you find out, you’ll have her killed.”

“Sandro.” I crouch down on my haunches in front of him. “I already know what she tried to do.”

His eyes widen and pure panic washes across his young face. “Oh, God. I didn’t know what she was going to do. I swear on my life. If I’d known what she was up to, I’d have stopped her.”