Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 91238 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91238 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
We give what we have. And I’ve got nothing left.
Chapter 2
Gian
It’s been ten years since I left Philadelphia.
Ten years and nothing’s changed. There are new buildings in the skyline, new soldiers lurking around the house grounds, but it’s all the same old Rossi bullshit still.
Nobody stops me as I drive up the long, winding pathway to the family mansion. It’s tucked away near a national park, surrounded by a high fence, patrolled by armed soldiers, littered with security cameras, and buried by huge, old trees. The house where I grew up, the house I’ve simultaneously hated and missed with all my heart, the place I’ve avoided returning to.
I park, get out, and stretch my legs. I flew out from Vegas when my older brother Carlo got shot, although it turns out he’s fine. I’ve been in the city ever since, but I’ve been avoiding the house, at least until today. There are too many memories, most of them bad.
My abusive bastard of a father, may he rot in hell. My mother’s Alzheimer’s. My brother Renzo’s ascent to control of the Famiglia. Even my little sister Stefania hiding out at school and acting like nothing’s wrong.
Now this fresh nightmare.
Carlo’s waiting for me out front. He knew I was coming and heads down the steps to greet me, limping the whole time, but still grinning fiercely. He’s the most outgoing and chaotic of the brothers, and I’ve always been closest to him.
We bonded over our mutual hate for our father. That and cheesy action movies. When we were kids, we’d stay up late, make popcorn, and watch the goofiest made-for-TV garbage we could find.
“You finally made it out to the house,” he says and hugs me tight. I return it quickly. I’ve never been big on showing affection. Papa tried to beat it out of us when we were young—a real man is stoic, keeps it all inside—but those lessons never took with Carlo for some reason. “Renzo’s been asking when you’d come visit. You can stay in your old room, you know, it’s basically untouched.”
“I like my hotel.”
“I bet you do.”
“How’s it going in there? How’s Mama?”
“She’s alright. It’s not a good day so I wouldn’t go visit with her. Maddie’s with her right now and she’s calm, but I don’t know, man. Might not be great if you crashed the party.”
“Understood.” I glance away toward the trees to hide my grimace. Maddie is Renzo’s new wife. I barely know her, but apparently, she’s really good with Mama, which means she’s on the positive side of the little ledger I keep in my head. Some people are good, some are bad, and I don’t forget any of them. It’s one of my many ugly qualities.
“Come on in.” Carlo leads the way. I follow him into the kitchen. “Renzo’s busy, but Saul’s around here somewhere.”
I grunt in response, trying not to reveal my real reason for showing up today. Hearing Saul’s name is like getting a flaming sword jabbed into my throat. “Where’s the hero at right now?”
The hero is our older brother Saul’s nickname—so called because he was always trying to show off and one-up everyone in front of Papa.
“In his office upstairs, I think. Why, you want to talk to him?”
“Haven’t had much time to catch up since I’ve been back.” Actually, I’ve been avoiding him, but Carlo doesn’t need to hear that. “It’d be good to sit down and see how he’s doing.”
Carlo laughs and waves that off. “Saul’s the same as always. He’s too busy keeping the Famiglia running to give a shit about anything else. Basically, his head’s up Renzo’s ass, and Renzo’s head’s up the Famiglia’s ass.”
“Whose ass is your head up?”
“My own, probably.”
“It’s one big circle-head-jerk.”
“Gross, but accurate.”
I grin and accept a drink. We toast, take sips, and hang around for a little longer before I finally ditch him and move upstairs to find Saul. My brain’s loose from the whiskey but I’m completely focused on the reason for showing up at the house today.
These last few weeks have been pure hell.
I thought I could handle it. I kept telling myself I could. It’s been a long time since college and my feelings should be under control by now.
But they aren’t. I’m still a fucked-up mess. Probably always will be.
I’m a man with particular tastes. I get fixated on things and can’t let them go. That’s why I’ve got the ledger in my head. That’s why I can’t live in Philadelphia.
There are too many people on the wrong side of my books here.
The halls are quiet as I navigate toward the office. Renzo took over Papa’s old study, which means Saul’s now in the former library, a big room that gets freezing in the winter and way too hot in the summer.
Nothing’s changed in the house. The Rossi mansion’s a huge building, fifty years old, ostentatious in its decorations. Oil paintings, thick carpets, drapes worth more than most small cars. Even the wallpaper is expensive. Everything smells like floor polish and oak. I halfway expected Renzo to make more changes, but he left it all the same, a shrine to the power of the Rossi name.