Primo scoffed. "Respect? You think he respects you? If you think he told you anything out of respect, you've lost your mind! And truth? What does he know of the truth? He was probably there to gloat!"
"He's got nothing to gloat about," Dante said. "He lost a cousin, you know."
To be technical, Dante thought, Gavin lost two. Enzo died at Dante's hands. He personally had taken away one of Gavin's cousins.
"I'm well aware of their relationship to the Barsantis," Primo spat. "It just furthers my point. Whatever truth you think he gave you is skewed. His loyalties lie with them. He's not your friend. No Amaro is, nor will one ever be, not as long as you're a Galante. You need to get that through your head and get over this 'he respects me' nonsense, and you need to do it quickly."
Primo turned, intending to walk away, like he considered the conversation over, but Dante wasn't done talking. "So tell me."
Primo stalled. "Tell you what?"
"The truth," Dante said. "Tell me the version that isn't skewed. Respect me, since Amaro doesn't, and tell me what happened."
A moment passed, and then another, before Primo looked at Dante again. His expression was calm. He'd pulled himself together with ease. "You want to know the truth, son?"
"You know I do."
Primo took a few steps forward, his demeanor casual, like the man was just strolling through the room. Unruffled. It was a facade, Dante knew. A mask to hide behind, to not let Dante see he'd gotten under his skin, but it was too late. Dante knew he'd struck a bad nerve, one he might never recover from. Primo had, even momentarily, questioned his son's loyalty. Was there any going back from that?
"The truth," Primo said, "is that I did what I swore I would do. I went after Matteo Barsanti. I blew up his car. And if you expect me to feel even an ounce of regret about that, you're going to be disappointed. I refuse to grieve for a Barsanti."
"But what about my sister?"
Dante kept his voice even as he asked that. Emotion was vacant in his voice. He felt it, though. He felt the anger. He felt the pain in his chest. Man, it burned.
Primo said nothing.
Dante wondered if he planned to answer at all.
What could he say? How could he twist it? How could he justify harming his own daughter?
But eventually, Primo let out a deep sigh that almost... almost... sounded coated in regret. When he spoke, though, Dante realized he'd been mistaken. Not regret. Shame. He was ashamed of her. "Genevieve knew. She knew, and she turned her back on us, on this family, and she chose him instead. She chose a Barsanti. So do I grieve her? Absolutely. I grieve the loss of her every day. But not for the reason you're thinking. It's not because of anything I did. Your sister committed suicide, as far as I'm concerned. She did it to herself. I'm not to blame."
Primo strolled out then, just as coolly as he'd approached. Dante listened to his footsteps as they headed to his office.
Dante followed but paused in the foyer, hearing voices. His father was talking to someone. It took just seconds for him to recognize the other voice. Umberto. Dante debated interrupting, torn between confronting his father and wanting to get the hell out of there. His dilemma ended when the office door opened, Umberto walking out and closing the door behind him.
He frowned at Dante as he started toward him, carrying some stuff. Dante realized, as he approached, that it all belonged to him. His wallet, his car keys, and even his cell phone.
"Your father figured you'd want this stuff back," Umberto said, holding it out. "He said you'd want to leave, to cool off, clear your head, you know… that you're upset about things."
"Upset about things," Dante repeated, grabbing his wallet to scour through it. Everything was still in there, as far as he could tell, even a couple twenties. They hadn't bothered to steal his money. What kind of half-assed criminals...?
"Yeah," Umberto muttered as Dante shoved the wallet in his back pocket. "Sorry about all that, by the way… sorry about what happened."
"What do you have to be sorry for?" Dante grabbed his keys and phone next. The battery was dead, but Dante guessed it still worked, considering his father returned it. "It's not like you killed my sister."