I’ll make it so quick, so painless. He won’t see it coming.
But first, it’s Sammy’s birthday. Because Caligula was right: Sammy deserves to feel like he matters.
I slide out of the bed carefully. He stirs and then curls into the warm space I left. His hand reaches for where I was and settles on the sheet.
I shower fast, dress, and stand in the doorway looking at him one more time. The covers have slipped to his waist. His mouth is slightly open.
I could cross back over there. Put my hand over his mouth and nose. He’d wake up confused, but not frightened, expecting pleasure, not oblivion…
I leave him sleeping.
It’s past seven already; if I want to get Benedetti here today for Sammy, I need to contact him soon. In the sunroom, Rosa has laid out breakfast already, and is just on the way out when I come in. “Get hold of Lorenzo Benedetti, would you?” I ask her as we pass each other. “I want him here this afternoon. And tell Sammy I need him, too.”
“It’s his birthday,” she protests. “Give him the afternoon off, at least.”
“It’sforhis birthday,” I growl. “And it’s supposed to be a surprise, so don’t go opening your mouth, woman.”
She stares at me in surprise for a moment, but I catch a tiny smile as she turns away, saying over her shoulder, “I will arrange it.”
I was going to eat alone, but when I look at the amount of food Rosa’s laid out, I think better of it and go back to wake Caligula.He’s already stirring, and gives me a sleepy smile when I bend over the bed.
“Get up,” I say. “You need to eat.”
If there’s one thing I don’t want him dying of, it’s starvation.
“Sir, yes, sir,” he says, his imitation of a military cadet somewhat ruined by the enormous yawn that follows.
He wraps himself in my robe again and follows me to the sunroom, where I make him pile his plate up.
“Dami, I’m really not that hungry,” he complains at last. “I’d rather just have coffee and maybe a slice of?—”
“You eat when I tell you to eat, andwhatI tell you to eat.”
His eyes slide to me under his lashes. “Sir, yes, sir,” he murmurs under his breath.
But he doesn’t sound like he minds it all that much, being ordered around.
I wasn’t sure about including him in the celebrations today for Sammy. But Benedetti likes him. And that might be useful, since I’ve got no idea how Sammy is going to respond to this whole thing.
We gather in the great room at three: Vito, Rosa, and Sammy, who’s glaring at Caligula. I can’t blame him. But Caligula, for his part, tries to make himself as unnoticeable as possible. He takes a seat to the side, and I let him, even though my first instinct is to tell him to sit closer to me.
I feel awkward. These are my people, but I’m never soft with them. I provide for them: money, safety, a roof over their heads. But this, all this fuss and nonsense, this ain’t me, and it’s making me uncomfortable.
Sammy’s reaction is not helping. He’s suspicious. He knows something is going on, but I’ve never done anything for his birthday before. He keeps watching me with those big, wary eyes like I’m about to tear him a new one.
But Caligula was right; Sammy is into fashion. Today he’s wearing black jeans with holes he put in the knees himself, decorated down the sides with metal studs. He’s always liked a punk rock aesthetic, and it suits him. He has taste, which I don’t. He just doesn’t have the resources to indulge it.
That’s where I can help him out.
Caligula is staring at me now, and when I finally meet his gaze, he widens his eyes and looks meaningfully at Sammy.
“Oh. So, uh,” I stammer out. “Happy birthday, Sammy.”
“Thanks,” he says flatly. He’s still not sure what’s going on.
“Well, the reason we’re all here,” I go on awkwardly, “is because I got Lorenzo Benedetti coming over. He’s gonna make you a suit. For your birthday. I…hope you like it.”
The blank look stays on Sammy’s face for a few seconds as he processes, and then his eyes widen. “Lorenzo Benedetti is coming here? For…me?”
