Hiroto’s simple sentence came with a picture, and Reiko didn’t need to ask to know he’d taken the photo that morning. That was the habit he’d developed.
She stared at the screen, at the photo of her late mother’s tombstone and the portion of the fresh bouquet Hiroto hadn’t quite cropped out, until the screen went dark. A wayward tear rolled down Reiko’s cheek and she finally set her phone back on the table. It wasn’t like Hiroto expected a reply right away. If he found out she’d lost her job—on the anniversary of their mother’s death, of all days—she’d surely receive some sort of berating message for it. She would contact him later.
Reiko let her gaze roll up, toward the ceiling, and one more tear slipped free.Of all the days.
She drew a deep breath, held it, then pushed to her feet. As if on autopilot, she made a cup of her favorite calming tea, breathed it in, and forced herself to resettle at the table. There was still work to do, no matter what day it was. No matter what expectations others held over her head. No matter how much it hurt.
“Seems poetic if you ask me.”
Santino tapped his fingers on his desktop and let both brows arch up his forehead as he shifted his stare to his cousin. “Poetic.”
Danilo grunted, never one to catch onto Santino’s darker moods, and sat back in his chosen seat the way a man might when he was settling in. He swept one arm out. “You ran wild barely a week ago. Between the men who died and the ones who haven’t finished recovering, the family’s out five good soldiers.” He gestured with his other arm. “Now your managers are running amok, firing employees and shuffling the fucking board without your sign-off.” He dropped his arms to his lap and leaned forward, glaring as his tone darkened. “Poetic.”
Santino didn’t flinch. He didn’t curl his fingers into a fist, or bury that fist into his arrogant, stupid cousin’s face. He didn’t up-end the desk that held between them. He didn’t draw his nearest gun.
He thought about doing all of those things. He envisioned each scenario, the rush, the immediate gratification the moments of impact and resulting silence might bring. He let himself imagine the relief and the fucking joy of shutting his jealous cousin up before the dumb shit could get them all killed.
Then he exhaled, and followed those scenarios through to the moments when he had to explain the outburst to the rest of the family. To Nonno, and Zia.
And so, Danilo lived another day.
“Since we’re being frank, Cousin,” Santino said, pulling his arm from the desk and leaning back in his chair to let his hands fold in his lap, “I’ll remind you that you shouldalwaysmodulate your tone when speaking to me.”
Danilo’s brow dipped and his lips thinned.
Santino didn’t let him respond. “More importantly, just because you’re too ignorant to understand my decisions doesnot mean I’ve ‘run wild’.” He threaded his fingers together and narrowed his eyes at his cousin as Danilo’s agitation rose in nearly palpable waves. “Iam in charge of the Guerra family. If I tell a man to jump, he doesn’t fucking hesitate. He doesn’t ask how fucking high. He just jumps, as high and far as his goddamn legs can handle.”
Danilo shoved to his feet and slammed a fist onto Santino’s desk. “That wasn’t even our fight!”
Santino let his scowl deepen. “What is an allegiance if we don’t occasionally show up for the other side?”
Danilo’s lips curled. “I will never understand why you’ve entangled us with those Jersey—”
“You don’t have to.” Santino stood, leaning only forward enough to rest his fingertips on the desk. The move maintained his superior height over his older cousin even as it brought him practically within kissing range. He kept his tone cold and flat, his stare hard. “That deal is struck, and now the Dragon owes the Guerras a debt in blood. That is all you need to know.” He let his eyes narrow. “And none of that has a goddamn thing to do with how my businesses are supposed to be operating.”
Danilo’s nostrils flared.
Santino moved one single step back, allowing himself to breathe air that didn’t smell like cheap tobacco and cheaper perfume. “I don’t want you showing up at my door to criticize my methods again. We may be family, Danilo, but I am alsoBoss.” He swept his suitcoat off the back of his chair and shrugged into it. “Show me the respect of my title moving forward.”
Danilo opened his mouth, an argument blazing in his eyes.
Santino dropped his thumb to the intercom on the corner of his desk. “Armando.”
A brief round of crackling continued to cut off anything Danilo wanted to say, before Santino’s head of security and longtime bodyguard spoke through the line. “Yes, Boss?”
Santino made no effort to hide the scathing smile that lifted his lips as he stared across at his fuming cousin. “Danilo is leaving. Also, have a car brought around. I need some fresh air.”
The cemetery was bright, almost cheery, with green grass and sprinklings of colorful flower arrangements dotting the landscape in all directions. Tall, imposing marble crypts and tombstones of various heights and ages gave the sprawling field a detached, fantastical feel. Reiko was struck by the sensation every time she visited her mother’s grave. It made her wonder what the cemetery felt like in other seasons, when the landscape itself might be drearier, but she never dared. She had no idea how often her father or brother were prone to visit and no desire to risk run-ins with either.
She knew her limits. Her boundaries.
Her throat closed as it always did when she reached her destination, and Reiko sank to her knees in front of the familiar marble. She spared barely a glance for the surely expensive bundle of flowers that rested at the base of the slab. Emotion burned and twisted through her every time she read her mother’s name, etched in traditional kanji, on the ever-polished, too-wide memorial.
It wasn’t that she and her mother had been close. It was that Reiko could never forget the last true conversation they’d had.She could never forget how she’d disappointed her mother in her own attempt to free herself of her family’s oppression.
She mourned a closeness that had never truly been, while drowning in a guilt that would never recede.
Reiko swallowed hard and sucked in a breath. “Hi, Mom.” After five years, she really ought to have figured out how to talk when she visited. She cleared her throat and tried again. “I … lost my job today.”
