I rub some rouge into my cheeks and slick on some lip gloss and mascara before slipping my feet into my black ballet flats. Then I spritz some perfume on my wrists and my neck, and I head downstairs to meet our mystery guest.
“Ah, here she is,” Papa says as I slip into our living room. He stands, walks toward me, and takes my hand, pulling me over to the stranger as he gets up from the couch.
Gosh, he is tall and extremely handsome. And oddly familiar. With dark hair, a strong nose, full lips, and expressive blue eyes, he is a very good-looking guy. The thick five o’clock shadow on his jawline and the purple shadows under his eyes suggest he hasn’t had much sleep lately. He carries himself rigidly, as if he’s in some pain, and I frown. Is he hurt? He looks young, but I can tell he’s a bit older than me.
He eyes me curiously as I do him.
“Let’s sit.” Papa pulls me over to the couch opposite the man. We all sit at the same time, and there’s a tension in the air I can’t explain. “Natalia, this is Bennett,” Papa says, keeping his eyes trained on mine. “Bennett is my son and your brother.”
I blink profusely, staring into space, sure I must have misheard him. Slowly, I turn to face my father. “What?” I blurt, thoroughly shell-shocked.
“I know this is a shock, Natalia, but a pleasant one, I hope.”
I swing my gaze to Bennett, studying his features more closely, and I see the resemblance. To Papa. To me. To Mateo. His eyes contain sympathy and a healthy dose of turmoil as they connect with mine.
“How?” I ask, whipping my head back to Papa. If my father had another son he kept a secret, there can only be one reason for that. “Did Mama know you had a child with another woman?”
He nods, and his tongue darts out, wetting his lips.
Mama knew? I cannot imagine what that news must have done to her. Confusion and pain swirl in my heart, and I wrap my arms around my body, feeling a chill creep up my spine.
“My mother was Jillian Carver,” Bennett says in a deep baritone voice.
“Was?” I ask, lifting my eyes to meet his.
“She died last year.”
“I’m sorry,” I say without hesitation. “We have that in common.”
“I’m sorry for your loss too. Both of them,” he replies, and this is one of the weirdest moments of my life. One of the strangest conversations.
“Did you know?” I ask him.
He shakes his head. “My mother never told me anything about my father. I had no idea I had a sister and a brother until Angelo sent men to collect me from Chicago.”
“You lived in Chicago?”
“All my life.” He places his hand on his right shoulder, hissing a little.
“Bennett was initiated earlier today,” Papa says.
Of course, he was.
Now I know why Bennett is in pain and rubbing his shoulder where the Mazzone crest was recently imprinted. I grind my teeth to the molars. Mateo isn’t even cold in his grave, and Papa is already lining up another successor.
I glare at my father, channeling all my anger and frustration in his direction.
This isn’t Bennett’s fault. He was as clueless as me, and now I know why he looks dazed and confused. Papa just lifted him from his life in Chicago and thrust him into the belly of the beast.
“I’m so sorry,” I say, ignoring my father and looking at Bennett. “I can only imagine how confused you are.”
“It’s been a lot to take in,” he admits, as a muscle clenches in his jaw. He cracks his knuckles and averts his eyes.
“You two need each other,” Papa says, and I glare at him again, not concealing my anger. “Be careful,principessa,” he murmurs, gripping my chin though his touch is gentle. “I have killed men for lesser looks.”
I wrench out of his hold and rise, pinning him with the full extent of my rage. “Do you care about anyone, Papa?” I yell, throwing my hands around. “Or are we all just pawns in this sick game you play?
“Sit down, Natalia,” he snaps. “And show me some respect. I am your father.” He smacks the arm of the couch.
