“Thank you so much,” she says softly.
Her words hit me like a jolt, sharp and electric.
“Please, let me go.”
The words echo in my head, pulling broken, hazy flashes with them. A girl beneath me, pleading, her voice trembling. Blonde hair. Soft skin.
I freeze. Why the hell does she look so much like Lucia?
I don’t blink. My eyes stay on her face as confusion grips me.
Why the hell am I picturing this now?
Carlo’s fists clench the second he catches me staring at his wife. He takes a deep breath and exhales noisily. He looks at his wife, whose face is flushed, her movements awkward as she avoids my gaze.
Why’s she so flustered? Why won’t she meet my eyes?
With a voice not so gentle, Carlo tells her to leave.
I grab my wine glass and drain it in one go. I’ll get to the bottom of this later.
Once the women are gone, we make our way to Don Fernando’s office. The presence of Giuseppe, my uncle and Don Fernando’s trusted consigliere, and my half-brother Brando, makes it clear this meeting has an important agenda.
Don Fernando settles into the rocking chair by the cold fireplace and lights a cigar. Giuseppe claims the leather couch, sitting stiffly beside Brando.
Carlo pours himself a glass of whiskey, drops into an armchair, and I take my spot against the edge of the massive desk, arms crossed over my chest, watching them all.
Don Fernando doesn’t bother with pleasantries.
“I told Senator McKay: Tony’s heading to Chicago. He’s taking over U.S. operations.”
The room falls into stunned silence, everyone except Carlo, who calmly sips his whiskey as if the announcement doesn’t concern him.
“What about the casino?” Giuseppe asks.
“Brando steps in,” Don Fernando replies.
Brando’s surprise is evident, but he doesn’t object.
Don Fernando exhales a cloud of cigar smoke, his dark eyes settling on Brando. “Do you think you can handle it?”
Brando straightens, the hesitation in his expression vanishing. “I can, Father.”
Don Fernando nods, satisfied. “Good.”
“But Brando’s still a kid. He doesn’t have the experience to run one of the most critical operations in this business.”
It’s Giuseppe who objects. Brando frowns, but before he can defend himself, Don Fernando cuts in with a calm, dismissive shake of his head.
“Decision’s made. If his business sense matches his fucking and drinking skills, he’ll manage. He’s a Bruni, the madness in his blood will carry him.”
Well, this is a first. I’ve never heard Don Fernando so much as hint at a compliment for his youngest son. Brando, my half-brother from the same mother, has always been invisible to him.
Carlo, of course, is the center of Fernando’s universe, his golden child. Everyone else is just shadows in his glow.
Giuseppe doesn’t push back further. He knows better than to challenge Don Fernando’s decisions.
Brando, though, looks at his father. His bright blue eyes shine with gratitude and barely contained excitement.
