Page 282 of Lorenzo

I move another step forward, putting myself squarely between Greco and my family.

“You loved your son,” I say. “That does not give you the right to take mine.”

His attention jerks back to me, and the gun in his hand rises another inch.

“Your son is alive,” Greco says, his voice turning bitter. “Mine is in the ground.”

“And murdering Alessio would not have changed that.”

His mouth twists. “It would have made us even.”

“No,” I say. “I did not murder your son, but you would have murdered mine. We would not have been even.”

Greco’s expression twists. “You took away everything that kept him safe.”

“Maybe, but Angelo made choices that put him in prison.”

His eyes flash with fury. “You and your family aren't exactly saints, Conti.”

“No, we’re not,” I say. “But we don't claim to be.”

Greco stares at me for another second, but whatever argument he might have made dies when a siren sounds somewhere in the distance.

His head turns sharply toward the noise.

“It’s over, Marcello,” Mario says.

Greco looks around at the armed line facing him, at his two remaining men, then toward the road as the sirens grow louder.

One of the men behind him lowers his gun.

“Boss,” he says quietly.

Greco whips around. “Don’t.”

The second man hesitates, then lowers his weapon too.

Marcello looks around, wild-eyed, before finally lowering his weapon as well.

One of Mario’s people moves forward cautiously, his gun still trained on Greco while another starts toward the two men who have already surrendered.

The sirens are coming closer now. Typically I would be the one to deal with police and do the cleanup on a situation like this, but I don't know if I have it in me tonight.

For the first time since Marcello came around that corner, it feels finished, and I just want to go home.

My attention shifts to Alessio.

After everything Greco has said about him tonight, I need to see my son’s face.

Our eyes meet, and I'm relieved to see that he understands that, no matter what Greco says, he is nothing like Angelo.

Then something in his expression changes.

His eyes widen, and his focus snaps past my shoulder as every trace of relief disappears from his face.

I know before he says a word.

Greco.