“Your underboss andconsiglieredecided it’s time,” she says. “You don’t have to be there. Honestly, in your current condition, it’s probably better if you’re not. But it’s happening.”
I look at the program. “You can’t have a funeral for a dead don without the new don present.”
“You seem to forget.” Her voice is almost gentle, which is really fucking strange. “You can do whatever you want. You’re the boss, Vin. If you don’t want to show up, you don’t have to. If you don’t want to marry someone, you don’t have to.” She meets my eyes. “But you will be boss when the funeral happens unless you decide you don’t want the job.”
I find another bottle—I don’t know where it came from—and drink from it directly, a long pull that burns all the way down.
Siena watches me, disappointment etched on her face. Wouldn’t be the first time someone looked at me that way, and it won’t be the last. She can join the fucking club.
My father thought I was a fuck-up. My brothers are over it. Sophie’s done with me.
I drink again.
The last thing I see clearly is Siena standing, gathering her bag, glancing back at me one more time before she leaves.
Then it’s just the bottle, then the ceiling, then nothing.
18
SOPHIE
I’m at the Arsenal, finding the quiet space between lunch and dinner services, when Siena appears in the doorway wearing Emilia in a carrier and an expression of distress so intense that I almost stop breathing.
“Back here,” I say, waving her around to follow me to my office before she says a word.
She follows me through the kitchen, her and Rocco locking eyes as we pass the dish station. When we’re in my office, she asks, “New dishwasher?”
“Old one, actually,” I say, half closing the door behind her so I can keep an ear on what’s happening in the kitchen. “That’s Rocco.”
Siena’s eyes widen as I try to make room for her in the mess ofpapers, cookbooks, dishes, linens, and aprons. I really tried to keep the new Arsenal office looking better than the old one, but messy habits die hard.
“Sophie! The abusive Rocco? The douchebag who fucked you and wouldn’t date you Rocco? Why is here?”
“Don’t start,” I say lightly. “He’s doing well so far, took a demotion without complaint, and I needed a dishwasher. First sign of the old behavior, and he’s gone.”
She holds up one hand in surrender and bounces Emilia gently as the baby grabs a fistful of her mother’s hair and pulls. I reach over and untangle her tiny fingers from Siena’s hair without thinking, and Emilia immediately lunges toward me, arms outstretched.
“She misses her auntie,” Siena says.
“Her auntie has been here every single day since opening.” I take Emilia, settling her on my hip. She smells like baby powder and milk, and it makes my chest ache. “What’s wrong?”
Siena is quiet for too long, and real worry begins to build.
“What,” I say, “is wrong.”
She exhales through her nose. “It’s Vin.”
I furrow my eyebrows. That’s unexpected. Siena looks really stressed out but something being wrong with Vin, the man she probably hates most in the world, wouldn’t even have been my last guess.
“Okay,” I say.
“He’s not okay.”
“He’s never okay.” I wipe off a random spoon on my desk with my apron and hand it to Emilia to keep her occupied. “That’s not a crisis, that’s a personality trait.”
“Sophie.” Siena’s voice is soft and tired. “He hasn’t left the Demonio estate in I don’t know how long. He’s been drinking nonstop, fighting with Matti and Tommy. He banned them from the property and when I brought him yourpastina, he threw it against the wall. Thepastina.”
I keep my face very still. I can’t imagine Vin rejecting amazing food. Maybe this isn’t just a personality trait. “And?”
