Page 7 of Useless Love

Trying to clear my head and focus, I say, “Sorry. What was that, Mother?"

She smooths the wrinkles out of her black dress, running her palms along her thighs. “I said, anger isn’t useful, Carmine. You are the last male Gaudino standing. I’ve buried more babies than a—”

“Don’t bother,” I say, cutting her off. She doesn’t need to give me the talk. I’m thirty-two years old. I would have been married by now if the wars hadn’t killed my last two fiancées. I know my duty. I know the urgency. I must produce a son quickly.

“Find a girl,” I continue. “Any girl with the right background. I’ll marry her the same day you present her to me. A baby will be made that very night.”

I flex my jaw, determined. Our bloodline will survive!

Despite the sorrow in her gaze, I can tell Mother is elated—she has been hoping I’d produce a son for years now. I’ve wanted to; these wars haven’t been my damn fault. It’s those fucking Bencivengas.

We arrive home, exit the vehicle, and walk into the townhouse, finding everything set up for the post-funeral reception. Shockingly, the old man is here. Guess he intends to keep face during this whole thing.

I’m hungry and hoping to grab something to eat, but he stops me before I can approach the food table.

“We need to talk about the next step,” he says gruffly. He’s a weathered-looking man—imposing and with dark, leathery skin that has a good amount of scars. “After this whole charade ends.”

I wave a hand, already starting to walk away. “I’m supporting Mother and Carla during the reception.”

Whatever bullshit he is about to say, I don’t want to hear it. Sal Gaudino is the type of man I once respected: once. I never liked his constant whoring around on my mother, but that’s typical of men in this sort of life. I looked past that, given our circumstances, and I had no complaints. Until I grew up and realized how fucking careless he is. He’s not a born leader; he’s a leader by birthright, given unyielding power that he doesn’t deserve. All he has done with his power is recklessly send so many to their graves.

He would happily let one of his bastard sons take over, not even comprehending the shame that would bring to our family.

I won’t let that happen.

Case in point about how pathetic and stupid my old man is: one of his pretty whores said she loved him, obviously a lie, and this clown became putty in her hands. He was wasting thousands on giving her whatever she asked for.

That was, until I killed her yesterday. I suspect that’s the real reason he was crying today, not because of the loss of my brothers. Sal Fucking Gaudino pushed out some real tears only because he lost a whore he truly loved and six of their kids. I killed the same amount his bastard sons that the war took from my mother.

Despite my attempts to bypass him and get to the food, my old man won’t leave me alone. He blocked my path, saying, “In two days at noon, we will meet with Bencivenga at his penthouse.”

He’s such an idiot, speaking about family business in the open like this. Thankfully, no one besides trusted family had arrived yet.

I finally look at him with hard eyes. “Where? Are you serious? You didn’t pick a neutral location? Old man, you agree to walk into the lion's den?”

This is what I’m talking about: our supposed fearless leader. He’s planning on both of us walking into the high rise of our enemy, which I’m sure will have plenty of hidden security and lots of guns. And he thinks they won’t try something?

Fuck it. If I’m going out, I’ll take one or two of those Bencivenga bitches with me. I’ve never met them and don’t know what they look like, but that doesn’t matter. They’re Bencivengas so they deserve to die.

Noticing the repugnant look on my face, the old man says, “Carmine, this war has to end. One of us has to make the first step.”

“Lucky for them, you decided it’s gonna be us,” I say while frowning.

He crosses his arms and looks ready to throw a fit. But I know the secret behind all of his scars: he’s a terrible fighter. “I don’t need your fucking approval,” he bites out.

“Nobody approves of a fucking thing you do.”

I let him grab my arm because I know it will upset Mother if I punch my old man at this reception. “You’ll show me some goddamn respect,” he growls, digging his fingers into my arm like he can’t feel how my large bicep is coiled and ready to strike.

I only smirk, keeping my cool. “Between both of us, I’ve dropped way more bodies, old man. Remember that.”

He releases my arm and storms out the front door. He’s likely on his way to the now empty house he once shared with his whore and bastard children.

I notice my sister standing near the hallway giving me a disapproving stare. “Carmine, why are you guys going at each other’s throats when we should come together as a family? We just came from a funeral.”

I move past her. “His actions practically killed our brothers. You don’t care?”

“Enough,” Mother’s voice booms. “Your brothers were buried today. Both of you, just stop.” She rubs her temples and looks on the verge of shedding more tears.

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