Page 44 of Legacy of Deception

She squinted her eyes. “Incident?”

“According to the news station that reported on it.”

“What building, Marco?”

“Yours. Security is on it, though, working with the authorities to find the culprit.”

She narrowed her eyes but said nothing. She didn’t need to. She already knew.

“The good news is only one apartment was targeted. The bad news is it was yours. Or as the reporter put it, ‘apartment of the soon-to-be wife of a Deluca heir.’”

“Does he think this is a joke?” she snapped.

Her combative nature was cute, but it didn’t change the facts. “You’re out of your league.” Santo’s hands weren’t clean. They never were. They were covered in lies and deceit and soured realities that painted a picture of him doing all he did for the greater good, which in his mind was family.

In the beginning, I may have believed my mother didn’t know anything of it, that she had been in the dark. Things changed. For as soft of a woman as she could be, she had probably learned chastising him for his broken moral compass and the misdeeds he’d racked up was nothing more than a waste of time. Regardless, I had decided not to take a stance on the subject because it was more complicated than any of us could have ever imagined. It also wasn’t my place.

Just as it had nothing to do with me that Vito was treading down the same path as our father. Lisa Marie had been called out on her hypocrisy for turning a blind eye. However, I genuinely thought there was a bigger story there as well.

Whipping her ponytail, she gave me a fiery look that had the ability to shoot daggers my way. “Don’t tell me what I’m out of.” Her cadence became sharp in an authoritative tone that sent bolts straight to my groin.

“Too bad because you might be out of your mind too, but that’s another story.” I shook my head.

She groaned, reaching out and grabbing hold of my shoulders. Only, we were standing far enough apart from one another, such that it felt reminiscent of a middle school dance where neither of us could enter the other’s space. “Marco, aren’t you going to do something?”

I rested the back of my head on the wall, wishing I could actually pound it into it. What exactly was it that she wanted from me? To lie to her? To fill her head with some ridiculous notion that I could wave my sword around and make everyone listen to me? “What?” My mind buzzed with the knowledge that her hands were no longer on me. “He has everyone in his pocket. Trying to change the narrative would do no good.” It was, in fact, already perfectly crafted by our legal team, about how we were taking every step necessary to protect our own, how the people of New York needed to remember to stay safe and lock their doors.

Her throat strained as she swallowed. “But if you—”

“That’s not the way to take him down.”

She rubbed her belly, averting her gaze as I rolled my initial ring around my finger. It was a good thing that child wasn’t a Deluca. Publicly, yes, but I meant genuinely. They would have nothing but tedious expectations placed on them. Santo would no doubt teach them how to be like their nonno.8 That was, if it was a boy. If she was having a girl, that would have been only slightly different. They would be taught the same things instilled in Capri and Siena. Just like the rest of us, they were screwed up in their own regard.

“Because you’ve done such a stellar job of it so far.” Her lip trembled, and she bit down on it, still not looking me in the eyes.

Stepping toward her, I trapped her chin with my thumb and forefinger, making her face me. She shut her eyes in a defiant move. “I’m handling it.” Hopefully, she heard that, and the words flooded through her system, so she could think on them the next time she had any bright ideas like her most recent one. “And he doesn’t see me coming.”

Her eyes flew open. “How can you be so sure?”

Cocking my head, I pitched my voice low. “Have you seen him retaliate or do anything to position himself one step ahead of me?”

Nothing more than our breaths consumed the air.

“Exactly,” I said quickly, roaming my finger over her jawline before leaving.

She toyed with the chunks of hair framing her face. “So, what you’re telling me is, he got what he wanted.”

I nodded. “Two times over again.” Not that it was what she wanted to hear. “He got to invest and he scared you.”

A crease appeared on her forehead. “That—”

Holding up a hand, I sighed. “Anything you’re about to say, I have likely already said.”

Shrewd son of a bitch.

Ruthless bastard.

Calculating.