Demetrio's POV
My father's text arrived before I was back in the car.
Come to the mansion.
Three words. The specific economy of a man who had been told something and was not putting his reaction into a text message. I stared at it for a moment and then told the driver to change course because the lunch I had been planning and the specific version of the afternoon I had been looking forward to were now going to have to wait.
McKell had called him. Faster than I would have liked, which told me the Irish boss was more genuinely irritated than his controlled performance in the booth had suggested.
The mansion doors opened to Antonio's expression, which was the specific expression he had been making since I was twelve years old when I had done something that was going to produce a conversation with my father, and I had not seen it in some time and the familiarity of it did something almost nostalgic to my chest.
