For once, it’s not my fault.
We’re on the 17th floor of Dragovari Tower where we often meet. Matti is at the window with his back to me, one hand braced against the frame, watching the street below. He’s been staring and thinking since he got here, both him and Tommy answering me in grunts until I gave up trying.
Tommy is in the chair across from me, his long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, a glass of water sitting untouchedon the table beside him. He’s working through something in his head even though he won’t fucking say what it is.
I’m sitting with my arms crossed over my chest, waiting for these fuckers to say something of substance.
Matti finally straightens and heads over to his desk in the corner. He pulls out a folder and hands it to me as Tommy seems to wake from his stupor.
It’s the funeral arrangements for Aurelio. The funeral home calls me every few weeks to find out what’s going on. The diocese has finally stopped calling. Every message from them and everyone else who expects to play a role in this thing has been handed to me by Matti or Tommy without comment for months now.
“Set the date,” Matti says finally. “It has to happen, Vin. We can’t keep stalling. People are starting to talk.”
“Let them talk,” I snap, glaring at Matti. He doesn’t back down, his gaze solid. I roll my eyes.
Tommy leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his jaw tight. ”We look weak. We look like we don’t have a boss. The funeral is how we make it official. You know this.”
“I know.”
“Then—”
“I said I know.” I lean back in my chair and press the heel of my hand into my eye socket. The headache that’s lived behind my left eye for weeks pulses dully. “I’m working on it.”
Silence stretches out again, long and uncomfortable.
Tommy pinpoints me with an unwavering stare.
“What?” I say.
“You tell me.”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean, Tommy?” I fucking hate where this is going.
“Something is going on, Vin.” He glances in Matti’s direction. “And we all know what it is. But you won’t talk about it. We’ve been in this room three times this month and we keep having the same conversation that goes nowhere. Matti and I can’t do our jobs if you won’t talk to us.”
“I talk to you.” I hate how fucking defensive I feel, but they’re not wrong.
“You give us information,” Tommy says. “That’s not the same thing.”
Matti nods and crosses his arms. “We can run logistics, Vin. We can run operations and security, all of it. But we aren’t making moves, and there is business to be done. The status quo won’t hold forever. So if there’s something you need to handle, we need you to let us help you so we can get past this.”
I say nothing. They both wait. The clock on the wall ticks. I tap the folder with Aurelio’s funeral arrangements a couple of times and exhale hard.
“The marriage for the alliance,” I say finally, looking up from the folder first to Tommy then Matti. “I don’t want it.”
Neither of them reacts.
“The funeral makes me officially boss,” I say slowly, working it through out loud for the first time. “The funeral also marks the end of the mourning period, which triggers the contract with the Irish. The contract triggers—”
“Your marriage to Ashlyn,” Matti finishes.
“My marriage to Ashlyn.” I feel like I’m fucking talking about someone else.
Matti exhales through his nose. “So you’ve been stalling on purpose. We all know you don’t want to get married. Why didn’t you say something? We could have handled this by now.”
“I took the year to consider my options. The fact that I could lean on Italian tradition bought me time to think things through.” I roll the folder into a cone and gesture at the clock on the wall. “I don’t have another clock to hide behind.”
“And you don’t want to get married,” Tommy says.
