“I was told you are the only one I shall trust,” I say after closing the door. Salvatore glances around the room and is visibly taken aback.
“Have you never been in here?” I ask.
“Never, it was out of bounds.”
“Well, it isn’t now. You see, Giuseppe planned this a long time ago. I was instructed to trust you, so I will.”
I won’t trust any of them entirely, because Giuseppe was a lying bastard and a rapist, but for the time being, I’ll pretend to.
Salvatore nods.
“Do you hold a grudge against me?” I ask.
“Yes,” he says.
“Because it should have been you?”
“Yes,” he says again. He seems to be a man of few words.
“Has Giuseppe told you why he didn’t give it to you?”
“Yes,” he says hesitantly. “Because he didn’t see me as a leader, rather as a valuable asset,” he says and walks down a row of photos hanging on the wall.
“What made him think that you are not a leader?”
“I am gay,” he says, quite bitterly. “And apparently a woman as a leader is less appalling than a gay man.”
I almost choke on my own saliva. Because I am the gayest gay from the moment I started thinking about others.
“What makes you so valuable?” I ask to navigate the topic elsewhere.
“I have studied overseas,” he says. “Ivy League, many contracts with relevant positions.”
“You are the international man,” I say, and he seems surprised I know of everything that happens outside of Sicily, but then, he doesn’t know what Kat told me about the organisation.
“I suppose I am,” he says.
“I want you to be my right hand,” I say, because I need his trust, his commitment, his connection. “Meaning, you will be in on everything. I will give you privileges he didn’t give you. Is that something you are willing to do?”
“I am,” he says, turning to me. “I assume there is a condition.”
“There is,” I say. “I am entrusting you with everything. Therefore, your loyalty will lie with me, unconditionally. You will be my eyes and ears, you will not keep anything from me, and you will swear to it with your life.”
I’d make a good villain in a movie,I tell myself in my mind. That act was actually great.
“I swear to my life,” he says.
There is a moment of pause.
“Do you have family, Salvatore?”
“A sister. My mother died, and my father was murdered for his—“ he hesitates. “Misdeeds.”
Suddenly, a shudder runs over my arms with goosebumps spreading over them. I stare at him, and the question comes over my lips without me actively thinking.
“Who is your father?” I ask.
He does not look at me, but stands in front of the massive painting.
