Snapping Point||Book 1

38

Romano De Rossi

My father was inside The Twilight Concert Hall. I didn't know if he had any company, but I knew Morelli wasn't in there, and neither was Amato.

After the confrontation with Amato and tracking my father down to this place, everything was up to me now; all I needed was the perfect confrontation with Rossi. With that in mind, I stepped out of my car and approached the entrance of the hall. It was a circular building with a primal touch, and a large banner designed the giant door, depicting women with sex toys and bondage kits in explicit detail.

Being part of the TIF made us a big hit in the city; hardly a place we went without being recognized. If our faces didn't give us away, which they usually didn't, our cars, carriage or convoy certainly would. So it was no surprise that I was let in by security without question. My father was in here, likely having booked the place for the afternoon, which explained why there were no other cars in the parking lot except his.

I busted the door to the theatre wide open, and there they were, women in the buff wriggling on stage. Didn't expect to see that, but I took a moment to soak it in. Two blondes and a black woman, all caught up in their own show. They didn't even bat an eye at my entrance, but my father sure did.

From his seat up front, he caught sight of me lurking in the sidewalk of the hall, his own flesh and blood, the son who rarely graced these halls, the one he'd been keeping his twisted secrets from. His grin faded fast, replaced by a puzzled look. He froze, like he'd seen a ghost.

"Rossi," I called out from the back, not bothering to move closer. "Time to talk. You and me, we got some business to settle."

First off, he didn't like my address, then he had an issue with my tone. Anger sparked in his eyes, sticking around when he saw I wasn't backing down.

"You couldn't pick a better time? Show's in full swing," he grumbled.

"The show can hold its horses," I waved my hand, disrespectful-like. "...but our chat? That can't wait."

He took a quick look around, giving the performers a nod that said, "Sorry, ladies, duty calls," before he reluctantly made his way out of the row, motioning for them to freeze. As he strolled down the aisle, he muttered, "Make it snappy," and headed for the exit.

I trailed behind him, my left hand gripping the flash drive in my pocket. After confiding in Ottavio, he and I had scoured Rossi's room earlier, hunting for anything resembling what I had in my grasp now.

Amato's words about their filming time had kicked us into gear. I hadn't ventured into Rossi's den expecting to unearth those films—he wasn't that careless. A flash drive seemed a more discreet choice, so Ottavio and I had hunkered down, sifting through every damn drive until we struck gold.

"You're saying Rossi's got a drive with his dirty deeds stashed in a house with his own flesh and blood?" Ottavio's question had hit home hard.

Frankly, I had mulled it over, realizing he was onto something, deep as it was. "My father's a swine."

Gazing at that pig made my gut churn. I thrust the drive into his line of sight, watching as his eyes locked onto it, tracing the small, ominous device. "Care to shed some light on this?"

His expression twisted, surprise morphing into rage faster than a bullet. "And where the hell did you get that?"

He lunged for it, but I sidestepped just in time, keeping it out of his grasp.

"It's yours; you know where."

He closed the distance between us, but I held firm this time. Rossi despised cowards, and I refused to be one, spent my life trying not to be what he hated, fearing I'd never match his strength, yet knowing I'd loathe myself if I ever became anything like him.