But as the house comes into view, the majestic colonial design similar to that of the Cosa Nostra meeting place but with impossibly more ornate decoration, the nostalgia fades away. My last memories from this place… no. I will not think about those today.
There’s no trace of discomfort in my posture, nothing for anyone to remark on as I emerge, tossing my keys to the valet and walking in as though every part of me isn’t on alert.
No, I walk in exactly as I am. The Corvo heir, coming home.
I’m met with familiar faces. My father likes routine, doesn’t trust easily. Many of the staff here are people I’ve known my entire life. They keep their heads down as they pass, some offering a nod and a murmured welcome before they continue in their tasks.
The atmosphere here has changed. The staff scurry, rather than walk. As if they’re keeping their heads down.
“Miss Caterina.” Turning, I offer the short, portly man a smile. Our butler has worked here for longer than I’ve been alive. He was, by all accounts, devoted to my mother before she died. A dedicated man, but not an overly friendly one. His bow is deep. “Welcome back. Your father is waiting in the study.”
“Thank you, Fernandez. I’ll take some coffee, please.”
Truthfully, I’d prefer alcohol, but it’s barely lunchtime. Fernandez disappears as I stroll through the house. It’s quiet. I’m used to seeing men in and out, some gathering in the many rooms we have here. But today, the house is silent.
The deep, walnut-colored door is closed when I reach it. Knocking, I’m met with silence.
No. not silence. Someone shifts inside, the light creak of my father’s battered leather chair sounding as he leans back. I can see it in my mind, such a familiar sight I could probably sketch it from memory, even though my drawing skills are lackluster, at best.
I wait. Still and silent. And I wait.
So, this is how it’s going to be.
My father has always played these games. Enjoyed keeping people waiting, their nerves building as they wonder why. He taught me the trick years ago.
He’s never used it on me before.
Finally, his voice filters through. “Enter.”
I wait a few seconds rather than immediately opening the door. When I push it open, Joseph Corvo is exactly where I knew he would be. He doesn’t look up, his pen scratching at a piece of the paperwork scattered across his oak desk.
When the door knocks, I stride over and pull it open without waiting for approval, taking the tray from a visibly surprised Fernandez and carrying it over to a side table. “Coffee, father?”
The chair creaks again. I can feel him watching me, but I keep my back turned, pouring out the freshly-brewed coffee and adding a splash of milk. Turning, I place a cup down on his desk before taking a seat in the dark green leather Chesterfield opposite. The wide bay window behind him offers a beautiful view of the gardens whilst shadowing his face, making it difficult to make out the nuances of his expression.
Undoubtedly intentional.
He glances at the cup. “I prefer to take it with sugar.”
“Stop. It’s bad for your heart.” Sipping at the drink, I wait.
Finally, he snorts out a laugh, picking up the cup. “I must be getting old, to allow my daughter to dictate my coffee order.”
“Only because you know I’m right.”
The cup clatters as he puts it down. “I wish to discuss last night.”
And just like that, the father disappears. Replaced with the don. The fondness wipes from his face as he waits for my response.
“By all means. What part in particular would you like to discuss?”
He clasps his fists together. “Let us start with your behavior. It was out of line.”
My back draws up, my spine a straight line. “Unusual, perhaps. But out of line, I would disagree with. Strongly.”
He slaps his hand against the table. “You stabbed our biggest ally in the hand. To say nothing of your rudeness in interrupting the meeting for the Fusco boy.”
Carefully, so carefully, I choose my words. “An alliance in our world is not permission for poor behavior. I reacted accordingly. Asante needed a reminder that an alliance does not equate to weakness. If I had not responded to his actions, he would have seen it as exactly that.”
