“Domenico Casso. Dom. And yes, I’m your father.”

Just like they did in Damon’s study, all my unconscious reactions become conscious. Every pint of blood pumping through my veins. Every cubic inch of oxygen flowing through my lungs. Every contraction of every muscle.

He holds out his hand and I shake it, noting the surreal quality of it all.

I’m shaking my father’s hand.

“How did you—?” I don’t even finish the question.

Apparently he knows not only where I live, but how to cut the power, get up to a penthouse apartment without permission, and that I just learned of his existence. And that’s really fucking creepy. If I learn he can read the thoughts going through my brain at this moment, I’m not sure I’ll be all that surprised.

“Elisabetta.”

“What?”

“She’s kept tabs on you for years. The whole of your life that you’ve lived with your aunt and uncle. She’s one of my people.”

The glimpse I got of her wringing her hands filters back through my brain, along with her quiet kindness to me during my childhood. “Elisabetta is on your payroll?”

He nods. “May we come in?”

I have a feeling there’s not much of a real question there. They may have helped themselves to entering, but it’s interesting that he’s maintaining a pretense of manners. This man makes his own rules.

Maybe the apple doesn’t fall so far from the tree, after all.

I step back. “Please do.”

They file in, and I lead the way to the seating area. When the two men remain standing behind the couch he chooses to sit on, my question comes of its own accord.

“Damon said you were a capo.”

Another nod from Domenico. Dom. My father.

“That was a long time ago. I’ve . . . moved up in the family. CEO, if you will.”

“Not surprising,” Holly whispers, settling beside me on the couch opposite from him.

Dom’s gaze lands on her, and he smiles before shifting back to me. “I was happy to hear you found yourself a good woman. Although perhaps a little surprised by how you went about it.”

My eyes narrow. “Have you really been keeping tabs on me my whole life?”

He purses his lips and seems to be choosing his words carefully. “Not the first ten years. You were beyond even me then, and you had your parents. But after they passed away and you came back to New York? Yes. I’ve made sure to keep tabs.”

“But why?”

“Because whether you knew it or not, you’re my son.”

The million-dollar question burns within me, and I have to ask. “Would you ever have told me?”

He lifts his chin and takes a breath, studying me. It’s obviously not the first time he’s seen me, but I wonder if he’s ever seen me this close in person. We could have passed each other on the street dozens of times, and I would have never realized. Trying to comprehend this is like trying to learn string theory on a napkin in a bar after drinking a dozen pints of Guinness.

He shakes his head decisively. “No. I never would’ve told you. But now that Damon has run his mouth, I had no choice but to intervene.”

“An inconvenience, I’m sure,” I say, my tone dry.

“One I was ready for. I’m actually surprised he’s held it in this long. Elisabetta has been waiting twenty-some years to make this call. But the timing works in your favor, as well as mine.”

“What do you mean?” If he’s talking in Mafia code speak, I’m not following.

“He used his connections a long time ago to get information he should never have had. I knew he had it, and as long as he did nothing with it, I would do nothing with him. But he’s broken the balance, and it must be righted.”

Holly stiffens against my side, her hand landing on my knee and squeezing. “I’m sorry, Dom. We’re going to need to rewind the last thirty seconds and pretend we didn’t hear that.”

I cover Holly’s hand with mine. “I think you should go in the other room.”

Her nails dig into my leg. “Not a chance.”

One of the bodyguards snorts, but silences it immediately.

“Holly—”

“Crey—”

“Children, children,” Dom says. “The last thing I want is to cause marital strife. After having thirty years with my own wife, I can understand that these early days are delicate.”

Holly shoots a glance at him, and I know exactly what she’s thinking.

“Holly.”

“Crey.”

Dom smiles. “Yes. I know what she’s thinking, as well. And no, I wasn’t faithful to my wife. I should regret that, but then your husband wouldn’t exist. So, Mrs. Karas, how would you like me to respond?”

Holly must be gritting her teeth, because she says nothing.

Dom turns his focus to me and continues. “I understand your hesitance to know anything about my plans for Damon. That’s fine. But my world is not your world. A move like his cannot go unchecked. I stay in my position by exercising iron-clad control over my domain.”

I shake my head. “I want his shares back; I don’t want him dead. The problem with him ending up dead is that I’ll be the prime suspect, regardless of how it happens. We’re in the middle of one shitstorm right now, but it’s a corporate litigation matter. A criminal investigation and potential charges would be a whole different ball game, and I want nothing to do with that. If my stock price has taken a hit from the derivative suit, it’s nothing compared to what would happen if I were questioned in Damon’s disappearance or murder.”

Dom leans back and spreads his arms over the back of the couch, looking every inch the Mafia boss. All he needs is a stogie and a cloud of smoke to complete the picture.

“You raise a good point.” He brings a hand to his chin and scratches it as flashes of classic mob movies run through my head. “Hmm, you say you just want your shares back? That solves your problem?”

“Yes. The lawsuit goes away if he’s not a shareholder to maintain it,” I explain.

“After the suit has been dropped a while, I’m assuming you don’t care what happens to him?” he asks.

“I didn’t say that. He wasn’t a complete dick to Greer, and it would hurt her to lose him.” I glance at my sister, who has stayed oddly silent on the far side of the room. Her eyes are wide.