Dominic Casso holds court in the same building now as he did when I was a kid. Ma would take me there sometimes when she was dropping stuff off.
Everyone knew she was the mistress and I was the bastard son. Why the man couldn’t manage to produce a kid with his wife, I have no idea, but my suspicion is he didn’t spend enough time in her bed to get the job done. As far as I know, I have at least one half sister and maybe another half brother, but Dom has never confirmed or denied it. Probably because I never asked and I don’t plan to.
The small brownstone sits on the edge of Hell’s Kitchen, and I’m surprised he’s never upgraded. Then again, Dom didn’t get to his current position by being flashy or stupid. No, he’s calculating and ruthless. Information doesn’t flow from him unless he wants it to, and anyone who steps out of line is knocked back with the force of his will—or the back of his hand.
I’ve often been on the receiving end, and one time in particular stands out clearly in my memory . . .
“You had one job. One fucking job.” Dom’s tone was quietly menacing. “Watch her. Protect her. Never let her know you fucking exist.”
His fist slammed down on the desk, and the bronze paperweight in the shape of an apple-sized globe jumps with the force. He killed a man with that paperweight once. In front of me. I was fifteen, just being brought into the family business. Dom had decreed it was time for me to earn my keep and stop living on the money he paid my ma.
“But you couldn’t even do that. You just had to cross the goddamned line.” He grabbed the paperweight off the old wooden desk and tossed it back and forth between his hands.
Would he lob it at my head? My boxing lessons from Franco gave me good odds that I could duck quick enough, but I didn’t want to bet on them.
“No explanation?” He scowled at me. “You’ve got nothing to say for yourself?”
I never let my expression change during his tirade. Nothing I could say would change what I’d done . . . disobeyed the king.
“Open your fucking mouth, Cavanaugh, and say something. Did you fuck the girl?”
Now he was edging closer to my personal line. He might be the king, but I wouldn’t let him say a damned word against Greer. I’d snatch that paperweight out of the air and hurl it back at him before he realized what was happening.
“Watch what you say about her.”
Dom reared back in his seat as if shoved by the vehemence in my tone. “What did you say to me?” Rarely had I ever talked back to him, and his shock was clear.
“I said, watch what you say about her. She’s a lady. She deserves your respect.” I expected my low words to yield threats of violence, not a look of approval. But my relief lasted only a moment.
“Glad you understand that she’s out of your league, boy. You’ve got no business letting her know you exist, let alone pretending to be part of her world. You’re the fucking maintenance man and she’s an heiress.”
He wasn’t telling me anything I didn’t already know. Greer was too good for me. If she didn’t have a problem with it, why should I?
“She doesn’t seem to mind.”
Dom slammed his fist on the desk again. “Well, I fucking mind, and when I tell one of my men to take on a job, I expect him to do that job exactly the way I say. You do not overstep the line, boy. That’s a good way to lose your place and your life.”
So, what did I do? I was being warned off Greer, and yet I wasn’t ready to be done with her. I’d known from the beginning that crossing the line was a bad idea, but she drew me in. She was still drawing me in.
I waited for Dom to demand that I agree to stay away from her, but in his arrogance, he assumed his words were all that were necessary. He was wrong.
“Now, get the hell out of my office and back to work. I don’t need to be dealing with your shit. I’m too fucking busy for pissant shit.”
I turned to leave the office, but his voice stopped me at the door.
“Cav, hear me now. You fuck up again and you’re gone. Done. Out. So don’t fuck up.”
It wasn’t the first time and wouldn’t be the last time I was called to the carpet in front of Dom Casso’s wide wooden desk with the globe paperweight. But today, I’m not yanking open the door because he summoned me. No, I’m here demanding answers.
Two men draw their pieces on me when the door swings wide.
“You trying to get shot, kid?”
Dom stands behind his desk, both hands pressed to the leather blotter. The damn paperweight is still there, and I can’t help but wonder how many people have died due to blunt force trauma with a little help from the world.
“I’m here for answers.”
Dom’s gaze narrows on me, his dark eyebrows, much like my own, drawing together.
“Must be something special if it’s making you ballsy enough to come here demanding things from me.”
“Greer Karas. Where is she? And when the hell did you tell Creighton Karas you were his father?”