Page 14 of Satin Empire

“You can never defeat me, little man.” I drop into a fighting stance. “Bring it on.”

Brando gives a war cry, charges, and I snatch him up, swooping him into my arms. He laughs and struggles, and I manage to carry him over to his mother. She accepts the little tank with a wry smile.

“Gee, thanks,” she says, making an exaggerated gross face. “This stinky little boy needs a bath.”

“Noooooooo,” Brando says, throwing his hands in the air like he’s begging God to spare him the tub.

“Come on, you little beast,” she says, throwing him over her shoulder and patting his butt. “Uncle Carlo, you are dismissed.”

I salute the pair of them, smiling to myself. I head back to the main house and spot little Cassie playing with one-year-old Vincenzo. Allegra and Molly are chatting and keeping an eye on their kids.

“Sounds like Brando really kicked your ass,” Molly says as I pat a couple of little kid heads and climb up the steps.

“He’s a tank,” I say, exaggerating how out of breath I am. “I don’t know how much longer I can keep up.”

“Better get in shape then,” Allegra says, grinning huge. “Molly’s little Vincenzo’s not going to be a baby forever, and Cassie’s getting older. You’re going to have more and more little beasts to fend off before you know it.”

I can’t help but smile at the thought. I never knew I’d like being an uncle, but when baby Brando arrived, followed by Allegra and Gian’s Cassie, I quickly found out that I’m actually pretty good with kids. Maybe because I’m not afraid to get physical and silly, which is really all they want out of an adult, just a giant playmate to chase them around and play whatever crazy games they come up with. And whenever I’m at the mansion, I’m always down for playtime. I figure giving the parents a minuscule break is the least I can do.

I love my family. Not everyone has that luxury, but I truly love my family more than life itself. I head into the kitchen, pour a glass of good bourbon, and pause to sip it. Alana didn’t understand what she was asking of me last night when she wanted me to talk to Renzo about getting out of our marriage arrangement. In her mind, it’s as simple as a brother asking a brother for a favor; but in my world, it’s more like a brother asking a brother who’s also his Don and one of his best friends a favor that might upset the whole balance of our precarious existence, and all this during a fucking war. But I couldn’t explain all that to her on the goddamn street.

Still, I said I’d do it. I finish my drink and head to Renzo’s office. His door is cracked open, meaning he’s willing to entertain visitors so long as they have something important to say. I find him sitting on one of his couches, his laptop in his lap, feet propped up on an ottoman.

“You work too much, bro,” I say, closing the door and dropping into a chair across from him.

“Writing an email to a fucking judge. You ever threaten a goddamn judge via email before? It’s like saying something with sixteen layers of meaning hiding the real core of what I’m trying to say. I wish I could call him up and be like, hey, judge, if you don’t shut down this fucking trial, I am going to shove a gun up your ass and pull the trigger until you puke bullets. Instead, it’s all, we’d appreciate your assistance in this difficult time, whatever, whatever, whatever, big donations, blah blah blah.” He finishes typing, reads over the message, and clicks send before slamming the lid shut. “It ain’t easy being Don.”

“I feel so sorry for you.” I stretch my legs out and give him an easy smile. That’s the Carlo he knows, the Carlo he wants. Carefree and simple. “But I gotta ask you something.”

He gives me a look. Renzo’s always so damn serious. “That’s basically my whole life now. I sit in this office, people appear, they ask things of me, they disappear.”

“At least you have an office, bro. I have a fucking strip club.”

“Poor guy. Easy access to liquor and topless women. What a hard life.”

I laugh and run a hand through my hair. I wish he understood how much I hate that fucking titty bar. “I have to talk to you about my fiancée.”

“Alana? I thought the meeting went great.”

“She wants out of it.”

Renzo’s face falls. He gives me nothing, only a neutral stare as he shifts the laptop onto the couch and gets to his feet. I could’ve slow played that and come at it a little softer, but it’s better this way with Renzo. Tell him straight up, give him all the facts, treat him fair, and he’ll return the favor. I’ve always admired that about him. Not everyone can handle bad news without acting like a fucking prick.

He pours himself a drink and offers me one. I accept, because I’m Carlo, and I never turn down good liquor. I plaster that chill smile on my face and drink only after he does first.

“What did she say?” he asks finally, returning to his spot on the couch.

I give him a rundown of my conversation with her during our short walk. I don’t tell him about the stripping incident, because that will set him off, and for good reason. I love my brother, but I also know when it’s better to keep my mouth shut.

“I told her it doesn’t matter what we want and that this is happening, but she insisted, and here I am.”

Renzo grunts, swirling his drink. “Is that how you feel? You want out of this arrangement too?”

I tilt my head to the side, considering my answer. “Honestly, if I had the choice, I wouldn’t go through with it. She’s too young for me, Renzo. I’m fifteen years older than she is, and how the fuck is it going to look marrying a girl her age?” I don’t add that already it’s hard to get any respect in this fucking family, that everyone looks at me as Fun Uncle Carlo, the vicious but happy guy with a penchant for violence and a love for loose women. Aggressive, dependable, but not serious. Marrying a girl fifteen years younger isn’t exactly going to help my image.

“There isn’t anyone else,” Renzo says flatly.

“That’s what I told her.”

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