“Do you want to meet him?” I say.

“I already met him.”

“I mean, do you want to talk to him?”

Henry considers for a minute, chewing.

“Yes,” he says, nodding.

“It might change things,” I say to Henry, biting the edge of my thumbnail. I haven’t touched my ice cream at all, and it’s melting out of the cone, dripping down on the sand. I shouldn’t have bought one for myself—I’m too anxious to eat.

“Change what?” he asks.

“Just . . . you might go to visit him sometimes. Or stay with him.”

I know that concept might seem intimidating, and I don’t want that to influence Henry’s choice. But at the same time, I want to be honest with him. Telling Dante about Henry is opening a Pandora’s Box. I can’t predict what will come of it.

Henry considers.

“He is my dad?” he says. “For sure?”

“Yes,” I say. “He definitely is.”

“Okay then,” Henry shrugs.

I sigh, my shoulders releasing from their tense position. That part is done, at least.

When Henry was little he used to ask me questions about his father: What’s his favorite color? Does he have a dog? What does he look like?

Now he asks me a different sort of question.

“Why doesn’t he know about me?”

“It’s complicated,” I say. “You know I was very, very young when I had you. Your father was young, too. We were in different places then. Now . . . now we’re older. Things have changed.”

How much have they changed? Which things are different, and which have stayed the same?

I hope the answer is that Dante changed, and I changed, but the way we feel about each other has endured . . .

I’m afraid. Afraid that when I tell Dante the truth tonight, that will be the end of any chance we had of rekindling our relationship.

All I can really hope for is that he can love Henry despite it all. Because Henry deserves that, even if I don’t.

34

Dante

I tell Callum my theory that Du Pont was aiming for him, not Yafeu Solomon. Aida doesn’t like that idea one bit. But Callum looks relieved to at least know who’s been taking shots at him.

“You think he wants revenge for Jack Du Pont?” he says, frowning.

“Yeah, I think maybe he does. He was overseas when Jack was killed—so who knows what version of the story he was told by their family. They don’t know what really happened themselves. When he looked into it, it probably appeared like we were covering it up. Like we might have been responsible.”

“I am responsible,” Callum says, quietly.

“That’s not true—” Aida tries to say, but he interrupts her.

“Yes, it is. Jack worked for me. I brought him to that ransom drop knowing it was dangerous, knowing it was probably a trap, knowing we were outnumbered and at a tactical disadvantage.”

“Jack knew that, too,” Aida says, firmly. “He went along willingly.”

Callum just shakes his head, not willing to forgive himself for getting his friend killed.

“So what now?” Aida asks me.

“You two need to lay low,” I tell them. “You can’t give Du Pont another chance to take a shot at you. That means no public appearances, and especially no planned events. You give this guy advanced notice of where you’re going, and the next time he won’t miss.”

“It was only dumb luck he missed last time,” Callum says, darkly.

“Yes, you’re welcome,” Aida says, “For once your wife’s clumsiness paid off.”

She’s trying to make a joke like she usually would, but her face looks strained and pale. Her hand is pressed against the side of her belly, like she feels a pain there.

“I don’t want to wait for him to find me again,” Callum says. “Let’s track this fucker down and put an end to this.”

“I’ve got an idea of where he might be,” I tell Cal. “But I don’t think you should come with me. Stay with Aida, stay out of sight. We don’t want to tip him off just yet that we know who he is. Let him think you’re hiding out.”

Callum frowns. I can tell he doesn’t like the idea of hiding. He wants to take action just as much as I do. Probably more.

But Aida is clinging to his arm. She definitely doesn’t want him stepping foot out of the house.

“Please, Cal,” she begs, looking up at him.

Aida never begs for anything.

Callum looks as surprised as I am.

“Please,” she says again.

“Alright,” he agrees, reluctantly. “I’ll stay put for now. But call me the minute you find anything, Dante.”

“I will,” I promise him.

I’m acting like I don’t want to bring Cal along so we can lull Du Pont into a false sense of security. But the truth is, I want to keep him safe. If Aida were to lose her husband right before the baby was born, it would destroy her. For the sake of my little sister, I have to protect Callum, whether he likes it or not.

I’d like to take Nero along with me, but he’s working on the hard drive I stole from Kenwood’s house. Even though I don’t think Kenwood hired Du Pont anymore, I still want Nero to crack the encryption so we can see what kind of shit Kenwood has been secretly recording inside his house.

Instead, I call Seb as I’m climbing into my SUV. He picks up after two rings.

“Hey, big brother.”

“Hey. You free this afternoon?”

“Depends. What’s on the menu?”

“Exploratory mission.”

“Long drive?”

“Less than an hour.”

“Alright. Come pick me up—I’ll text you the address.”

Seb sends me an address I don’t recognize. It turns out to be a fancy condo building in the Loop. I wait in the car, and he comes down five minutes later, looking flushed and slightly out of breath.

“What the hell were you doing?” I ask him.

He grins. “What do you think?”

“You got some girlfriend living there?”

“Somebody else’s girlfriend who gets lonely from time to time.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake—you taking lessons from Nero?”

Seb shrugs. “He’s settled into monogamy. Aida’s about to have a baby. And you’re perpetually boring—so somebody’s got to have a little fun,” he says, buckling his seatbelt and flipping on the music.

I know he’s joking around, but he doesn’t actually look like he’s having that much fun.

Seb’s been in a rough state the last year or two, since his leg got fucked up. He’s been bouncing around, sometimes helping us with work, sometimes disappearing for days or even weeks while he drinks, parties, and does who the fuck knows what else. Apparently banging girls who are already in a relationship.

He’s unshaven today, messy-haired, shirt looking like it hasn’t been washed. Dark circles under his eyes. I had hoped he’d latch onto this South Shore project like Nero did, and it would give him something different to focus on. But Seb has never been as interested in the family business as the rest of us.