* * *
I spend the rest of the day sorting out Family business.
Lombardo assures me he will block any exhumation attempts, and seems confident that the matter is in hand. I call in on Vito DiPietro, my so-called Underboss, and he spends his whole time complaining about how much money we could be making if we partnered with some of the cartels in town. All it does is make me certain I need to put some succession planning place and retire the man as soon as possible. I call Montanari and tell him to leave Jacopo’s crew alone and go lean on Legs Liggari instead, who’s been making problems instead of solutions down at the docks, butting heads with the Bernardi boys down there. And then in the afternoon I spend some time going over the accounting records—I did not realize just how much paperwork would be attached to this job—so by the end of the day, I have an aching head.
The thought of my mother’s impeding arrival for dinner does not make my head ache any less.
Teddy lets me dress him for dinner again, and I take even more care tonight with him than I did for Jacopo and Miller. I hate to admit that I want my mother’s approval, but there it is: I do. Despite myself, I want her approval—for Teddy, at least. Perhaps if she thinks there is something between us, something lasting, she will stop harrying me to find a lover.
And perhaps thereissomething between Teddy and me, despite the nature of our meeting. As I look him over, the dinner pants, plain ivory shirt, and another cravat to hide Julian’s attempt on his life—pale pink this time, to play up his peaches-and-cream complexion—I’m relieved to think I am no longer his captor.
On the contrary, our roles have reversed. He has capturedme, somehow. His gentleness and his honesty and his wide-eyed way of watching me…
It’s flattering. And I haven’t felt flattered for a very long time.
He’s nervous—perhaps picking up on my own familial anxieties—but both of us quickly find we have nothing to worry about. My mother is as charmed with Teddy as I am. She dotes on him at dinner, questioning him with such interest that I can practically feel her mental evaluations of his answers.
And in turn, Teddy falls completely under my mother’s spell. He’s enchanted by her, looking at her with almost the same level of adoration I catch in his face sometimes when he looks at me.
It just makes me fonder of him.
The only hiccup comes when she asks about Julian. “The whore’s son is dead by now, surely?” she asks carelessly, after the plates have been removed after the second course.
“Mamma,” I say in soft Italian, “not in front of the guest.”
Teddy, meanwhile, is taken aback at her terminology.
“But he’s no use to anyone,” she says, persisting in English. “And aren’t you worried for your lover, with a killer so close?”
Teddy frowns. “Are you talking about Julian? I wish you would let him out, Alessandro.”
I hide a smile in my linen napkin as my mother stares at him in surprise. “He is a very dangerous and unpredictable individual, my darling. Don’t be fooled by him.” She looks at me and adds, in Italian, “He’s a crazy son of a bitch and you should have put him down years ago.”
Teddy pipes up again, and I can’t help enjoying the show. “But he’s Alessandro’s brother.”
“Half-brother,” my mother snaps, sharp with Teddy for the first time.
“Teddy’s right,” I tell her, before things get out of control. My mother’s temper can be as hot as mine when roused, and Julian has always been one of her triggers. “I have blood ties to him that I cannot ignore. If he’s the man I’m looking for, he will die. If not…” I shrug.
“You’d rather have him cut your throat open in your sleep?” But this time, I note, she speaks in Italian.
I push the button under the table and give her a blank smile. “Let’s have dessert.”
* * *
“Was I alright tonight?”
My mother has finally left us, and I’ve taken Teddy up to my bedroom again. It was hard to concentrate this evening with his beauty there at my right hand.
As she was leaving, my mother kissed Teddy three times, and he beamed at her. When it was my turn to bid her goodnight, she whispered, “A sweet choice, darling. I don’t like that he’s not Italian, but he’s pretty enough to forgive that, I suppose, and you have your father’s weakness for blonds.”
And so—even though I didn’t need it—I find I have my mother’s blessing, restrained though it might be.
“You were perfect,topolino. She liked you very much.”
He gives that shy smile as he begins to unbutton the shirt I picked out for him. I am lying on my bed, watching him undress for me, and for the first time in a very long time, I feel almost content.
“I liked her very much, too,” he says. “She’s sowarm. You’re lucky to have a mother like her.”
