fought before she went off to college. She was done with being known for her name. Rein.” His eyebrows lift in sarcasm. “She wanted to carve out her own place in life. I feared I’d lose her completely if I didn’t give her that.”
Regret ages his face. The confidence he wears rigidly falling away in a wash of repentance.
“By giving into my daughter’s demands, I failed her. Whatever happened when she went to college, too much trust had been lost for her to confide in me when she came back.”
If he expects me to say anything, he doesn’t let on. Happy to stare at me, letting me read his remorse like a book I’m not interested in.
“The thing that throws me about it all is that she became obsessively caught up in Codi’s well-being on her return.”
I raise an eyebrow, my interest piqued.
“I’ve searched for answers but they don’t seem to want to be found.”
“Or maybe you don’t really want them,” I counter, accepting the glass of amber liquid he slides my way.
Leaning back in his chair, he considers my words. “Perhaps you’re right, as awful as that makes me sound. Anyway” —he shakes his head— “my daughter’s well-being isn’t the reason I invited you to share a Christmas whiskey…”
The contrast between Dominic Rein and Kane Shay is striking. I’ve never let myself believe there was a difference. They were... are career criminals, not afraid to wash their hands in blood. I assumed Dominic was as unbalanced as Kane. Both have always oozed power and demand, yet Dominic is far more formidable than my father ever was.
Kane led through fear, through threat. He forced you to see how powerful he was through menace and violence. He was unbalanced and therefore trust wasn’t something his employees could offer him. That only cut down the effectiveness in his command.
Dominic, I’m coming to realize, leads through respect. He listens and thinks through his response. You know when you’ve pissed him off and how you’d go about doing so. He’s reasonable. He leads with his mind, not his heart, which means he’s in control. Always.
Dominic Rein refuses to let emotions cloud his judgment, and for that simple fact, he’s more dangerous than Kane ever was.
“I haven’t found your scumbag wife,” I confess, unsure what else he could want from me.
Eyes pinned to mine over the rim of his glass, he sips slowly. “I know.”
Silence sits between us as he drinks slowly and I shift uncomfortably.
“Plannin’ on tellin’ me that you’re aiming for my head?”
Surely he’s not brutal enough to end me on Christmas day while my brother plays happy family with his daughters.
“No.”
I swallow, smart enough to be wary at the intensity of his stare. “Why am I here then?”
“Carmichael,” he says, placing his empty glass gently on his desk.
My fist clenches involuntarily. “He’s a dead man.”
“Correct,” he shocks me by saying. “It’s been taken care of. My Christmas present to you.”
I scowl, angered he took my revenge away from me.
He reads my reaction easily. “Rocco, one day you’ll realize that when retaliation is taken out in temper and impatience; it’s messy and more often than not incriminating.”
“Don’t patronize me,” I grit out.
“I’m not,” he responds calmly, unfazed by the animosity in my tone. “I’m being real and I’m being honest. Your anger will only get you into trouble. It will take more and more away from you until you are left with nothing.” He gestures toward the door, where Parker sits on the opposite side.
“You know, Rein, I had a dad once... he was a cunt. Not in the market for a replacement.”
His gaze drops in amusement, a tight smile at his lips. “Kane also let his anger overtake his common sense,” he insults. “He ended up losing his life because of it.”
I shoot my whiskey back, slamming the empty glass on his desk, pushing toward his with force. It meets its mark, the glasses clinking with the potent sound of disrespect.
“I don’t want that ending for you, Rocco,” he implores, moving forward to rest his elbows against his desk. “You can write a different story than Kane did. You have more up here.” He taps his temple. “And you recognize that you have more to live for.”
He lets that sink in, watching my animosity wash away in a tsunami of feelings I can’t even comprehend.
There are days when I’d tell you that I couldn’t give two shits whether I lived or died. I’m not afraid of death. If an asshole with a