Surrendering to the Don's Dark Desires - Chapter 7: Chapter 7

The moment the men clear out, Don Vittorio makes a beeline for the armchair at the head of the coffee table.
I move like a shadow, pouring whiskey into crystal before sliding his glass across.
Then I top off my own and sink into the chaise lounge.
I take my time with the first sip, watching as he brings the glass to his nose, breathing deep.
"Twenty-four year?"
"Seventy-two," I fire back without missing a beat.
He lets out an appreciative whistle.
"Your taste has improved, figlio."
"Yours hasn't."
That earns me a dark chuckle from deep in his chest.
"Still got that razor tongue, Dominic."
"Always knew you'd be the one to carry my legacy."
"A legacy I'll scrub clean of your filth first chance I get."
His grin turns wolfish, something dangerous flashing in his eyes.
"Some stains don't come out, boy."
"They sink into the bone."
"Try cutting them out, they just bury deeper—branding your soul until they own every breath you take."
His gaze lingers on my throat scar, the unspoken history thick between us.
I take another slow sip, then check my watch.
"This why you dragged me out of bed at—" I make a show of checking again, "—two fucking a.m.?"
His smile drops as he sits up straight.
"Heard about today's ambush."
"You didn't come out of concern."
"No," he admits smoothly.
"You're harder to kill than that."
He leans in, setting his glass down with finality.
"But the attack made you look exposed."
"Soft."
"And soft is an open invitation to every two-bit punk with a score to settle."
My fingers tighten around the glass.
"Get to the point, old man."
"You need a power move nobody sees coming."
"Something to remind the Five Families—and our enemies—why you're the only one fit for my chair."
"Don't worry—I'll be sitting in it within the year."
His eyebrows shoot up.
"That a threat?"
"A guarantee."
I flash him a razor smile.
"Maybe check your own seat."
"Wouldn't want it disappearing on you."
For a heartbeat, he just stares.
Then he throws his head back, laughter shaking the room.
"Taught you too well, ragazzo."
His voice drops to gravel.
"You make me proud."
"You never taught me shit," I snarl.
"And you make me sick."
"That any way to talk to your padre?"
"You stopped being my father when you laid hands on her."
His jaw clenches hard.
"Nobody outside a marriage understands what happens inside."
"I saw enough," I spit out.
"Pezzo di merda."
A vein throbs at his temple.
He stands abruptly.
"I came with a solution."
"A way to reclaim your position."
Damn it.
I'd been thinking the same thing.
Damn blood for making us think alike.
Damn genetics for giving me his face.
Damn every memory that makes me hate him more than anything breathing.
I tilt my head, playing indifferent.
"Oh?"
He nods.
"The rat who sold us out to the Brits—we found his daughter."
"You'll have her location by morning."
"Don't screw this up, Dominic."
As he turns to leave, I call out, "Don Vittorio."
He freezes.
"I don't know what game you're playing," I say low and dangerous, "but I'll never forget what you did to her."
His spine goes rigid.
"Take a good look in the mirror, boy."
"The apple never falls far."
Then he's gone.