Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 101247 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 506(@200wpm)___ 405(@250wpm)___ 337(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101247 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 506(@200wpm)___ 405(@250wpm)___ 337(@300wpm)
“It changes everything,” I growl. “I have a business to run in New York. I could have rescheduled the flight for when he’s awake.”
Giuseppe walks in and Zio Marco’s gaze slides away from me.
“Oh, I see what this is.” I nod, looking at Nonna Isadora. “Matteo doesn’t want to see me, does he? It’s the two of you who want to talk to me.”
“No. Of course not.” Zio Marco shakes his head. “Matteo has been asking for you, but since he’s asleep, we decided to take the opportunity to talk to you.”
“Okay.” I fold my arms. “I’m listening.”
“I’m worried about the life you’re leading,” Zio Marco says, shaking his head. I know where he’s going, but I act dumb.
“How so?”
“You lack love for your family,” he answers. “I know that as the head of your organization, you have to stay strong and not show weakness or emotions, but your family should be special to you.” He shakes his head and regards me like an alien species. “What happened to you?”
“Having emotions is not a weakness,” I answer. “Although that’s how my father raised me, I know better now.”
Nonna Isadora narrows her eyes. She hasn’t spoken to me since I walked in, and I haven’t said a word to her either.
“Then why does it seem like your family gets the least of you?” Zio Marco asks. “You treat Dutch and Vance better than your own blood cousins. You even raised a gun to Matteo.”
My blood starts boiling all over again. “Matteo sat in my fucking house and suggested that I use my wife as sexual bait. He looked me in the face and dared to say that to me. You were also there, Marco. Now that I think about it, I should have put a bullet straight through his fucking head. Maybe now we’ll be planning his funeral and not this fucking meeting.”
Nonna Isadora sucks in a shocked breath and I know I have gone too far. I inhale deeply and calm myself down.
“You know this has nothing to do with what Matteo said,'' Giuseppe argues, coming to stand beside his father. Suddenly, it feels like a face-off. One family against me, but I’m not deterred. I’ve learned to stand on my own for years.
I turn to face him.
“You have had a vendetta against us for years!” Giuseppe roars. “Aside from almost shooting Matteo, you’ve never really shown us any type of love.”
“Love?” I laugh and shake my head. Nonna Isadora’s gaze focuses on me like a hawk. “You’re right, Giuseppe. Let’s talk about it.”
“That’s what we’re trying to do!”
“Hmm.” I rise to my feet. “I came here, practically an orphan.”
They watch me, curious about the direction of my recount. I smile. “And you pretended to love me. You-”
“No one pretended to love you, you ungrateful child,” Nonna Isadora interrupts sharply, her eyes narrowing darkly. “We all loved you. We took you as our own because you were ours. You are our blood.”
“Yes, you loved me, but ask them if they did.”
“Now you’re just making stuff up,” Giuseppe mutters evasively.
“One evening when I was twelve years old I woke up from an afternoon nap and went in search of my brothers.” I make an exaggerated quote in the air when I say the word brothers. “My brothers didn’t hear me coming because they were… plotting my death.”
“What?” Zio Marco asks, a confused expression on his face.
Giuseppe, though, has turned white with guilt.
“I was outside the door and I heard them planning to poison my drink because they hoped that if they killed my father’s only child, as my father’s nephews, they would inherit his empire of sin.”
Nonna Isadora ages right before my eyes. I have never seen her look so small or so shriveled.
“The plan was to offer me a poisoned drink after we finished playing our nightly board game. That night it was scrabble. I couldn’t believe they would go through with it. But that night they did it. I held on to the glass while my dear blood brothers kept persuading me to drink it. Eventually, I took a gulp but kept it in my mouth. When no one was looking I spat it into a flower vase. It was the last time I ever accepted an open drink or trusted any of them again.”
Giuseppe clears his throat, but he doesn’t refute my words. God knows I’d have fucking punched him right there if he made me look like a liar. I’ve held on to this story for years, preparing to take it to my grave. But I won’t let them act like I’m the monster when they made me this way.
“Giuseppe?” Nonna Isadora glances at her son. “Tell me this isn’t true,” she pleads. I’ve never heard her sound so lost and defeated.
Zio Marco hasn’t said anything, but his shock is evident.