All I have to do is leave behind the man who killed for me.
Who sat through six days of nothing but machines and hope.
Who gave me the one thing no one else ever has:
A choice.
And I’m not going to waste it.
It would be criminal to waste it.
EPILOGUE
Spreadsheets. Inventories. Shipment schedules.
The office feels sterile after the hospital. Efficient. The way it should be.
The restaurant won’t open for another four hours—just enough time to reestablish order. Rico’s disappearance has left gaps, and gaps invite questions. The LaRiccias are animals, but they manage their chaos well. Without Rico, certain arrangements have become… precarious.
My phone vibrates.Father.Again.
I let it ring three times before answering. Never the first. Never the last. Power is a rhythm, and rhythms must be controlled.
“Giovanni.”
“Your cousin is missing.” No greeting. No preamble.
“So I’ve heard.”
I shift a document one inch to align it with the edge of my desk.
“Three days now. His credit card was used for a private charter to Thailand. All his men went with him. His girls too.”
I make a sound that could mean anything. Agreement. Disinterest. Containment.
“He didn’t tell anyone. Not his father. Not me.”
“Rico has always been impulsive.” I check my watch. “Perhaps he needed a vacation.”
Silence. My father measures tone the way other men measure pulse.
“You saw him last,” he says finally. “At the estate.”
“Briefly. He was hosting a party I had no interest in attending.”
Another silence. He’s weighing what I’mnotsaying.
“If you know something?—”
“I know Rico LaRiccia thinks rules don’t apply to him.” I study my fingernails. Perfect half-moons. “He always has.”
“Luca is asking questions.”
Of course he is. Rico’s father. The man who once ordered my kidnapping.
“And what answers are you providing?”
My father’s breathing shifts—shorter, heavier. Contained anger. “The truth. That his son is an impulsive piece of shit who decided Thailand was more important than family obligations.”