He answers my silent questions before I have the chance to voice them.“Machine’s acting up.Figured nobody up here would mind.”
“What do I think about what?”I ask, getting back to his original point.
“We hadn’t discussed that yet,” Papa murmurs with a scowl at my brother.“But thank you very much for putting me on the spot.”
Suspicion traces a finger up my spine and makes my body tense.What next?“What do we need to discuss?”I ask as I finish off my breakfast.It all tastes like sawdust now.What a surprise.
“Over the next five or six weeks, there’s a string of events being held around the city,” Papa explains, dabbing his mouth with a napkin, brushing crumbs from the front of his polo shirt.Anything to avoid looking at me.“Charity events, worthy causes.I want you and your lovely new wife there as Santoro representatives.”
“Because if there’s one word that comes to mind when I think of Dante…” Luca murmurs as the machine hums, “… it’s charity.”
“Fuck off,” I warn.The old Dante is just below the surface now, dying to break free.To breathe fresh air again before making my brother wish he had stayed in bed with his fiancée this morning.
“Let’s face it.We need positive PR, and now that the war with the Vitali family is winding down and we’re absorbing so much of their business…” Dad shrugs like he has no say in any of this, which might be the biggest joke of all.“The public sees you and Sophia out together, a beautiful young couple, freshly married and with the rest of your lives ahead of you, they get a good feeling.A feeling of hope.Add a few generous donations from the Santoro family, and you have the foundation of a revitalized reputation.”
He thinks of everything, doesn’t he?He has it all figured out.
“Papa,” I croak once I find my voice.“That’s not what I do.You want somebody to go from one gala to another, shake hands, and pose for photos?Talk to your secondborn.”
His ham-sized fist pounds the table once.That’s all it takes for him to get his point across.“Youwilldo this.And it wouldn’t kill you to take your wife out for an evening.Get it together.”
“In what world does the underboss of a major family like ours play Mr.Nice Guy to a bunch of philanthropists and politicians?I should be here, with you, planning.”
“This is not open for argument,” he warns.“The invitations have already been accepted.You’ll find the information in a folder on top of my desk.I meant to bring it in but forgot.”Then he holds up his coffee cup, turning to Luca.“Bring me another one, would you?But don’t tell your mama.She doesn’t want me to have too much caffeine.”
Let Luca argue with him about how much caffeine is too much for someone with a heart condition.I need to get out of this room, and I do, taking the tablet but leaving everything else.Luca can clean it up.He has nothing better to do.
While I march to Papa’s study, my fists are swinging, and my heart is pounding against my ribs.Breathe.Control.The only thing I can do in this or any situation is master my reaction.Something I’ve worked on like my life depends on it, which it very well might, considering the close calls I had back before control was a word in my vocabulary.
I’m Papa’s puppet.The Santoro underboss, who, after being forced into marriage to a stranger, is now being pressed to parade around with a fake smile, all to make up for the sins committed by so many others.What a fucking travesty.
A soft, singsong voice floats my way from over my shoulder.“You’re an idiot, you know.”
Yes, what this morning needs is my kid sister’s sarcasm.
The perfect touch.
The goddamn cherry on top.
“Not now,” I tell her over my shoulder before entering the study, where, sure enough, there’s a folder labeledInvitationson the desk.
When I turn with the folder in hand, my sister is blocking the doorway, standing in the center with her arms outstretched to the sides.“You’re going to listen to me.”
“Guilia, get off my back, right?Go torture Luca for a while.”Yet when I move toward her, she doesn’t budge.“I’m serious,” I grunt, lowering my brow and scowling in a way I rarely do when she’s around.That’s because she usually doesn’t deserve it.
“You’ve always got things to do around here, don’t you?You get up, you work out in the basement, you even shower down there.Right?”Before I can answer her rhetorical questions, she goes on.“You work here all day long, and you only go home to sleep.You’re a married man now, you idiot.”
“Thanks for the reminder.”
“What do you think this is like for her?”she asks with an exasperated sigh.“Sophia is awesome.”
Are we talking about the same Sophia?
“Listen to me.”It’s not easy, softening my tone, calming myself down.“I’m glad you like her.I’m glad you get along so well.I hope you become good friends.But you can’t force anything to happen between us and for God’s sake.”I add, “We’ve been marriedthree whole days.Why am I the only one around here with a reasonable idea of how things are supposed to go?”
“I’m just saying, maybe instead of complaining that you have to, God forbid, go out in public with your beautiful wife, tell her about it like it’s a fun opportunity for you guys to get to know each other better.She’s good at it too,” Guilia states.“When we were having lunch yesterday, she told me about all the different charities her family was involved in, you know?She’s even given speeches at different events.”
She has?I have done shockingly little research into my wife.That’s unlike me.So much about this situation has uncovered parts of me I didn’t know existed.
