Wecan’t, I remind myself. That’s all he meant. Even if we wanted to be dating, we couldn’t, and that’s the point of telling Luca about it—own up to one smaller infraction so the second one seems not so bad. Although Carlo could be right about it being too late to spill the truth. Maybe thisisa dumb idea.
But it doesn’t matter. I’ve been shirking my responsibilities to the Family. I’ve been too worried about Carlo to see how disloyal I’ve been. The Boss needs to know, and he needs to knoweverything, from the hookups right through to Gatti’s death.
“I’m not high,” I tell him evenly. “Andyou’renot getting fucking high before we go see the Boss,” I add. “I’m gonna go upstairs and grab my stuff and then—”
“Hold up.We?”
I’m halfway up the stairs already, but I pause to remind him: “You have that meeting with Finch and his sister, don’t you?”
His face freezes. “Oh,shit.”
“Yeah.”
He turns around, half-running for the coffee table where he left his laptop. “I need to read over the briefs—”
I laugh as I head up, even though I don’t really feel like laughing.
Chapter Thirty-One
Nick
Luca’s not The Boss when Carlo and I arrive; he’s still just Luca. He’s getting a late start, sitting with Finch at the kitchen table where they’re eating eggs and bacon and flirting with each other.
I know they’ve been flirting because of the softness in Luca’s face that dies a few seconds too soon as he looks away from his husband to me, and to Carlo trailing behind me.
“You guys want some brunch?” Hudson Taylor peeps from the kitchen. Finch D’Amato certainly gets his money’s worth out of that kid. Personal assistant, chef, gofer, and God knows what else. But he’s smart, Hudson. Knows how to keep his own boss happy: do whatever Finch wants him to do.
If only Luca were that easy to please. It’s not that he doesn’t want his orders followed—naturally, we all follow orders. But he also likes us to show a bit of initiative. Take some chances. Mix it up a little. He’s never outrightsaidit, but it’s when I think outside the box and come to him with fresh ideas, or even better, just implement something and show him a positive result—those are the weeks I get a bigger bonus than the other Capos, or he compliments me in front of them, or he gives me a man I’ve been wanting from another crew.
I get rewarded when I take risks that pay off, and that’s another reason I think telling him about the whole situation now will pay off. Yeah, Ishouldhave told him then and there when it happened, but he’ll understand why I didn’t. Why I couldn’t.
Hehasto understand.
“We’re good,” I tell Hudson, who goes back to texting whoever he’s texting on his phone. Probably his boyfriend, Carlucci.
“You’re here early,” Luca says in surprise. He’s still in a pair of red silk boxer shorts and a matching, open robe.
I give him a respectful nod. “Wanted a word, Boss.” He studies me for a moment, and I can tell he’d rather not pull on the mantle yet. “It’s important.”
His lips move slightly, like he’s praying silently or maybe just sighing to himself, and then he looks behind me. “Bianchi. You’re here, too?”
“We have a meeting,” Finch says, then yawns. “That’s the only reason I’m out of bed. But Tara’s not getting here for another hour or more, Carlo. What gives?”
You could never tell, just by looking at him, that Carlo is about to piss himself from nerves. I’m not making an assumption there, either. It’s what he told me himself in the car on the way over.
“I wanted to go over the contracts and agreements,” he says, smooth as the creamed butter Hudson serves up with his pancakes, “to make sure you understand your responsibilities once you sign.”
Finch groans and thumps his head on the table.
“He’s right, baby bird,” Luca says, ruffling his hair. “Listen to the lawyer. You wanted this charity nonsense, you need to do the work.” He stands, the smile dropping from his face as he looks back to me. He pulls his robe shut and ties it, and he’s Luca D’Amato no longer. Now he’s Don Morelli.
I sure hope my poker face is as good today as Carlo’s.
* * *
We takeour time in Luca’s study; he’s asked Hudson to bring up coffee and so we make small talk until that arrives, and I string it out as long as I can until the Boss decides it’s time for business. Except it’s not my business—he has other things to tell me about.
“Sonny Vegas still won’t play ball. Says he’s got enough problems of his own without worrying about East Coast issues.”
