“Sit down and shut up.” Luca smacked the back of our baby brother’s neck.
My older brother took one look at Tristan and I immediately saw the displeasure on his features.
Tristan was simply more competition.
“How old are you?” Luca demanded.
“Thirty-three.”
“About Luca’s age.” Enzo poured himself a whiskey with a groan. “Good to know. Dad was in hisdipping his dick in whatevermoved era.”
“Who’s your mother?”
“Name’s Rita.” Hale looked calm and composed. Tiernan slid a glass of water in his direction, and he reached to take a sip. Suddenly, he looked unbearably young. I once again was reminded that the allure of the faceless and unknown often hid something painfully ordinary. “She was a hooker from Philly.”
“How’d it happen?” Luca demanded. “Vello’s always been careful with his whores.”
“He enjoyed this one just a bit too much,” Hale said aloofly. “And by the time I was born, it was too late. Rita died of an overdose a few years later, and I was sent to be raised in a village in Georgia, with Vello checking in a few times a year.”
“Georgia as in the state?” Enzo asked.
“Georgia as in the Caucasus region of the Black Sea.”
The three of us exchanged looks. That sounded exactly like something Vello would do.
“And your accent?” Luca asked.
“Fake,” Tristan Hale spat out. “Just like my Italian, Russian, Spanish, and Romanian. I can adapt almost every accent if need be.” He said all of this in perfect Neapolitan-accented Italian.
Luca scratched his jaw, one hand on his waist. “What’s your real name?”
“First, tell me what you intend to do with me.”
“Bold of you to assume what’s happening here are negotiations.”
“You’re safe,” Enzo cut in, giving Luca a chiding glare. “You’re a Ferrante. We take care of our own.”
“I saw how you took care of our father.” His voice caught again.
Jesus. Did he really love Vello? In a way the three of us never could?
“Vello overstepped,” I said slowly. “As long as you do not betray us, you’re safe.”
“Gurgen.” He pressed his lips together, staring at the floor. “Gurgen Ferrante.”
“Why’d you come yesterday?” I boomeranged a pack of cigarettes his way. I felt bad for the boy. He was obviously mourning our father, something none of my brothers, me included, was capable of.
He didn’t touch the cigarettes, but his scowl cleared, somewhat. “I hadn’t heard from Dad in a while. I thought he was mad at me for what happened with the Irish girl. I wanted…” He swallowed. “I wanted to see what was going on for myself. And something else was bothering me.”
“We’ll get to that something in just a moment.” I held up a finger. “First, why did you spare Tierney?”
He lifted his gaze to mine, malevolence burning in his eyes. “Isn’t it obvious?” He smirked. “She’s your Achilles’ heel. Your weakness. She’d have been no good to me dead. But alive? She’s damn useful. She took you out of the race. You chose her over the kingdom.
“For as long as she is alive, you can never be don. I wanted to hurt her just enough to put her in your care—to knock you off thepathway to becoming the don—without actually eliminating her from the game.”
“From the game?” Luca bared his teeth.
“Our chess game, of course.” Our half brother sprawled back in his seat. “I’m sure you’ve seen it on our father’s desk. He’d been sending me a picture with his weekly progress since I was in diapers. It is a telltale sign of who he sees as his successor.”
