“So? What do we do?”
I note the “we,” and feel my heart beat a little faster. “We keep the kid,” I say confidently. “In the old days, medieval times, a royal hostage ensured one House would not rise against another. It was a political move, keeping the kids of royalty. We could keep the Donovan kid as leverage over his father.”
“Keep him, eh? Hand him over to Sam Fuscone as a prisoner?”
Shit. “Of course not,” I say quickly. “We treat him well and keep him happy; his father sees it, he’s more likely to go along with what we want him to do.”
Tino gives me a smile then, a slow, face-expanding smile, and wags a finger at me. “See?” he asks of no one in particular. “Y’see? I knew you had it in you. I always said you were a smart one. Luciano, my boy, I like your idea. Only, you’re talking about a political hostage. I’ll go you one better.”
* * *
I followTino back into the room where they’re all waiting. Finch looks more like a defenseless baby bird than ever, blinking nervously, breathing hard. He’s sweating and sickly-looking—he’s coming down, hard. Frank is letting Finch lean on him, half holding the kid up. Fuscone and his nephew are stewing and muttering in the other corner. Angelo, who has the face of a fashion model and the heart of a warrior, is reading a magazine over by the window, supremely unconcerned. That’s the kind of man I want protecting me whenI’mking.
Still, Finch’s drug situation is one we will have to address, assuming Fuscone doesn’t just shoot us all after Tino announces his decision.
One part of me is appalled by Tino’s malicious sense of humor. The other part is interested to see how everyone will react. It’ll be a test of character, if nothing else.
Tino doesn’t sit back down; he leans against the table, looking at us all as we line up again in front of him. I make sure to have Finch in between me and Frank. I just hope his crash doesn’t make him mouthy again.
“Listen up,” Tino says unnecessarily. It’s so quiet in the room I can hear Finch’s harsh, uneven breathing. “This is how it’s gonna be. The Donovan kid stays alive.” Fuscone gives a low growl, which earns him a stare from Angelo. “He stays alive,” Tino repeats. “Luciano owes him a debt of honor, and he also made some eloquent points about how useful the Irish kid is alive. Only he doesn’t get to go back to his daddy. He stays with us.”
“A hostage?” Fuscone sneers. “He’ll just try to escape.” The word comes outexcape.
“No he won’t,” Tino says, looking at Finch, who shakes his head rapidly in agreement. “Because he’s not gonna be a hostage. He’s gonna be our new ally.”
Fuscone makes an involuntary movement next to me, but I stay as still as ever. A man who can’t control his own body can hardly control others. “That’s right,” Tino continues, “this kid is gonna marry into the Family.”
Finch goes from green to sheet-white. “But I’m—”
Frank gives him a sharp prod in the side, and the kid shuts up, thank God.
Tino gives Finch his patented fatherly look. “I know what you are, kid; we all know. Times have changed, though. Tradition is important, but I like to be, uh…socially aware where we can. So I’m not gonna force you onto someone’s daughter. That would be a despicable thing to do, to the both of you. No. You’ll marry Luciano, here, and you’ll be a wonderful, dutiful husband to him. You hear?”
I don’t look at him, but out of the corner of my eye, I see Finch’s mouth fall open. I know how he feels. Mine fell open when Tino suggested it, too.
Joey Fuscone, Sam’s nephew, snorts and laughs; he thinks it’s a joke. His uncle knows it’s not.
“No fuckin’ way,” Fuscone says, his tone dark and dangerous. Angelo pulls out his gun. No one talks to Tino like that. Fuscone reels it back in. “Tino, come on, you’re joking, right? The crew can’t have a couple of fairies running around town representin’ us. We’ll be a laughingstock!” His voice gets louder and louder, and he’s rocking on his feet. I glance at him and see his face has gone puce.
One day Fuscone’s just going to keel over and die from a stroke. I hope I get to kill him before that day comes.
“That is my decision,” Tino says simply. “It solves your money problems, Sam. Howard Donovan will play ball if we have his son as leverage. You have no quarrel with this lad, after all, only his father. Isn’t that right?”
Fuscone, still seething, points at me. “The money ain’t my only problem, Tino! This fuckerdisrespectedme. You gonna reward him for that?”
Angelo takes a step forward.
Tino folds his arms and leans back, staring at Fuscone from under his brows. “You think me marrying these two off is a reward, eh? Are you so happy in your own marriage?”
I can sense a change in Fuscone, even if I can’t see his face.
Tino gestures to me. “Does Lucianolooklike this is a reward to him?” Fuscone looks me over, and I try to keep my face looking disappointed, if not downright bitter about the whole thing.
In fact, I just don’t knowhowto feel.
“And another thing,” Tino says. “I may put up with you lot running around on your wives, but I expectthisto be arealmarriage.” He looks at me and Finch. “That means you’re faithful unto death, you hear me? You don’t go outside the marriage bed. I catch word of you out sniffing around, D’Amato, we’re gonna have a problem.”
Fusconereallylikes that.
