White Knight (Dirty Mafia Duet, #2)(37)

We might not have been raised the same—me on Dom’s afterthoughts of generosity, and him in the lap of luxury with his wealthy relatives—but we both experienced emotional terrorism that forged us into the men we are today.

From the other end of the table, Eden waves at me with a smile. At least two-thirds of my siblings are happy I exist. I tell myself that’s enough for me, but I know I’m full of shit.

Because right now, I need Creighton more than I’ve ever needed him before. Who the hell else can I talk to about this fucking mess with Enzo and Dom wanting one of us to take over the family? No one knows me better than Creighton. No one understands the position I’m in quite like he does.

And yet, the one person whose advice I want more than anything is completely closed off to me because I followed orders.

I’m done following fucking orders.

With all these comments tonight about me not being my own man unless I take over, I find my decision is getting harder, not easier.

Can I walk away and leave everything to Enzo? If the capos don’t support him, how can he possibly lead?

I would love to think that he couldn’t and one of them would rise up to replace him, but I know that’s not the case. Enzo wouldn’t risk losing power as quickly as he gained it. No, he’d make a show of dominance. A bloody one. Like executing all his opposition and daring anyone else to question his right to lead.

And in this world, that’s what men follow.

Dom’s gaze is on me as I eat my salad, and I know he wants in my head. What would he say if I told him I don’t fucking want this?

He would turn his back on me in an instant. Wouldn’t he? And why the fuck do I care? I’m a grown-ass man, and I don’t need my father’s approval.

But still, a voice inside me asks another question. But wouldn’t it feel fucking good to finally command their respect?

For years, I’ve been at the bottom of the food chain. No one knows what to make of me. For once, it would be really fucking nice to have everyone know exactly where I stand and where their loyalty belongs.

I find Memphis’s hand beneath the table and tangle our fingers together.

But could I do that to her? She’s not meant to be the wife of a mobster.

Wife.

The word echoes in my mind through the meal. No one notices that I stay quiet rather than fill the air with chatter like the rest of the table, except for the eyes I feel boring into the back of my head.

That’s when it hits me. I’m not the one being pushed aside tonight. With a glance over my right shoulder, I confirm that Enzo stares daggers my way from the table with the capos who don’t want him to lead.

Enzo says he’s family, but Dom put all the family at one table. Is this Dom’s way of making a statement?

I meet my father’s gaze, but he’s too busy laughing and trading stories with Eden and Greer at the other end of the table for me to get a read on him.

I count the chairs. Five on one side. Four on the other.

If he’d wanted Enzo at this table, with the family, there was room for another chair.

It is a statement. I’d stake my life on it. Now, what the hell am I going to do about it?

We’re finishing up the main course when Greer pulls out her phone and smiles. She gives Creighton a nod, and he stands.

“Dom, if you’d like, your birthday present from all of us is here and ready for you to see.”

The old man’s face lights up like a kid on Christmas morning, and I try to shove down the jealousy that all of us doesn’t include me.

“Of course I want to see it. I can eat Andre’s veal parm any damn time.” He looks from side to side. “Where’s it at? They bringing it inside?”

Crey points at the door. “It’s outside. You definitely don’t want it coming in.”

Dom pops out of his seat with the agility of a man half his age. “Then we’re going outside.” He holds out his arms to signal to the rest of the attendees. “Come on, it’s time for my gift. Let’s go see what it is.”

The entire crowd funnels toward the doors, and Memphis and I are a few people back from Dom when we hear a woman yell, “Happy birthday, Dom!”

When we reach the sidewalk, a flatbed fifth-wheel trailer hooked up to a massive black dually truck is parked at the curb. On the flatbed is a car, sheltered under a cover with a giant red bow on top. Banner and Logan Brantley stand in front of the trailer with huge smiles on their faces.

Banner, no doubt, because she gets to see Greer—who rushes off the sidewalk to wrap her best friend in a hug. And Logan must be grinning because he made bank on this project. His restorations aren’t cheap. I would know, because he’s working on one for me right now. It doesn’t matter that he’s all the way down in Kentucky. He’s the best.

Dom stands on the edge of the walkway, staring at the car. He turns around and glances at Creighton, his eyes wide, and more excited than I’ve ever seen him. I shove down the anger at being excluded from the gift and embrace the moment.

Dom’s happy, and that’s not something we see often.

“Well, let’s see it!” Dom shouts at the head of the small crowd.

Creighton nods at Logan, who steps up onto the trailer and holds out his hand for Banner. Together they work to remove the cover slowly, so we can all savor the unveiling. As soon as the shiny red paint catches the light and the Ferrari logo is unveiled, Dom’s mouth drops open.