His words twist in a riot in my head, and I’m trying to make sense of them, but it sounds like complete fiction. It can’t be true.

“You’re telling me that David Karas was not my biological father.”

Damon is stone-faced. “No. He wasn’t.”

My father was not my father. The realization pounds into my brain over and over. I turn and pace toward the door. Several beats later, I gather myself and face him again.

“But he’s Greer’s father, because she was born in Papua New Guinea.”

“Unless your whore mother—”

I bolt across the room and my hand is at his throat, slamming him against the wall. “Shut your fucking mouth.”

“Get your hands off me,” he forces out through the chokehold.

“Tell me who my father is.”

“Let me go.”

“I said—” I wrap my fingers tighter around his throat. “Tell me who my fucking father is. You have to know.”

Damon’s face is turning purple, but he snarls out, “A capo in La Casa Nostra.”

I release him, and he stumbles back into the wall.

What the fuck? The Mafia?

“You’re lying.”

“No reason to lie.”

I lift my hand to my face as I try to let it sink in. “You have proof?”

He nods. “DNA test. Pulled strings when you were a kid.”

The man either has bigger balls than I could have ever suspected—or he’s stupid. “How did you not end up dead?”

Damon tries to chuckle, but it comes out as a grunt. He rubs his throat. “I know people.”

“Well, you can go fuck yourself. This stays between us. I’m not changing my name. You take that request and shove it up your ass.”

“Then get ready to lose your entire company. I will drag you through court and destroy your reputation by dissecting every move you’ve ever made. I’ll be so far up your ass, you’ll taste me with every breath.”

I have no doubt that he will attempt everything he’s saying. The crazy light in his eyes has settled over the expression on his face, and it’s clear that logic has fled his mind completely.

“You’re going to cost yourself everything. You won’t walk away clean from this.”

“I don’t care,” he roars. “I’m going to be a thorn in your side for the rest of your fucking life, like you’ve been a thorn in mine!”

My hands curl into fists, and I ask the question burning within me. “Why? And if all you want from me is to change my name, why wait until now? Why not earlier?”

Damon’s face twists into a sneer. “Every time I miss my brother—his birthday, our annual fishing trip, the World fucking Series, every time I see your goddamn picture in the paper, it makes me sick. If you didn’t exist, I’d still have him. It would be a fair trade, in my mind. And since I can’t have him back, it gives me some small measure of satisfaction to know that I can make you even a fraction as miserable as I am for losing him.”

I squeeze my eyes shut for a beat as a wave of grief hits me. Because the man that my uncle still mourns is one I miss just as much, and had even fewer years with.

“There’s something so fucked up about that, I don’t even know where to begin. You need help.”

He chuckles humorlessly. “No one can bring him back. And now you’ve proven that blood will always tell. Your mother was trash, and now you’ve married trash. You’ve tarnished the family name with your stunt, and I’m done sharing it with you. I won’t stop until I win.”

His last statement is a vow, and I know that all the words in the world won’t change his mind. The man has been buried in the grief of his loss for so many years, it seems to have twisted his mind.

So I don’t respond to his dig as I cross the room and rip the door open. My time will be better spent developing a new strategy now that I know what I’m facing. My eyes have reduced to tunnel vision, and I barely notice Elisabetta wringing her hands as I stride for the entrance.

Sliding in the backseat of the Bentley, I tell Michael, “Let’s go home. And hurry.”

Because I sure as fuck didn’t get the answers I came for. No, I got my world rocked, and a completely new identity.

Crey enters the penthouse, and it doesn’t take a genius to know immediately that something is very, very wrong.

“Crey?”

His hair is wild. His eyes are wild. His entire demeanor is wild. I’ve never seen him like this, and it sets my stomach on a high-speed churn.

“What happened? Is it bad? He didn’t take your deal?”

He walks past me to the window and presses a hand to the glass. His forehead follows next. “My father wasn’t my father.” His words are so quiet, I can barely make them out.

“What?” I whisper.

“My mother was pregnant when they met.”

A lifetime of not knowing who my father is has had a massive impact on me, but just learning it? I can’t imagine how much it would throw a person’s world off its axis.

“Oh my God. Do you know who . . . ?”

“Not exactly.”

I press both hands to my face before rubbing upward and dragging them through my hair.

Holy. Crap.

I cross to his side, wanting nothing more than to offer what little comfort I may be able to. His slumped shoulders look like they’re carrying the weight of the world.

“But Damon did tell me he was married, and he was in the Mafia.”

“What!” I don’t mean to yell, but if ever there was a time to yell, I think this qualifies.

Crey pushes off the glass and turns to me. “Yeah. Apparently I’m half Sicilian and not half Greek.”

I study him. “I guess I can see it. But holy shit, Crey. Holy shit. You can’t make this shit up. I mean, holy shit.”

The edges of his lips curl up in the tiniest hint of a smile, and incredibly, he bursts into a laugh.

“Fuck me, I know. Damon said he was a capo, and that was before I was born. He’s probably dead or in prison now. But Jesus fucking Christ. I went to buy back stock in my own company, not a place in the Five Families.”

My eyes feel like they may bug out of my head. I’m sure it’s not an attractive look on me, but I can’t help it. This is so freaking unbelievable.