Page 13 of Hidden Empire

With a chuckle he clicks his tongue at me. “Yes, the Outfit is an Italian Mafia, the biggest on the East Coast to be exact, and one of the oldest. There’s a few Italian families who have similar organizations, and we know them all. We keep to our territories, mostly. But that’s another study session to be had.”

Returning to his paper, he continues, “Dad married my mom about thirty-two years ago when they were eighteen. It was arranged, but he didn’t mind. Didn’t love her, but didn’t hate her either. Her name was Alina.”

Was. Because there’s no stepmother for me to encounter any time soon. I’m living in her old room, after all.

“She was a real mafia princess type. I’d say, you know what I mean, but you don’t. I’m sure you’ll meet plenty of them soon, though. There are two distinct kinds of mafia princesses here: the society darlings and the adoring mothers. Alina was the latter. Popped out a lot of us, of course, but preferred the way that made her look more than actually being a parent.”

Ouch. I want to tell him I’m sorry because that must not have been nice, but he doesn’t miss a beat, leaving no room for me to say the words.

“They had Apollo first,” Matteo goes on, writing out his oldest brother’s name below the furthest left line. “He’s the one who looks like Dad’s mini-me—which, I guess means he looks like you too, huh?”

He snickers like it’s humorous before getting back to his description. “Apollo’s thirty-one now and a grumpy prick. Don’t expect to spend a lot of bonding time with him, and don’t take it personally. He’s an ass, but that’s just how he is. He’ll be Capo when Dad retires. Well, he will if he bucks up and marries someone soon.”

With a snort, he rolls his eyes. “Can’t be a Capo without a wife, of course. The Outfit isn’t entirely backward, but we are quite traditional in a lot of ways.”

Tradition is important. Got it.

“Next comes Leon, the golden child, golden blonde hair and all.” The only blonde one from last night. That should help me tell him apart.

“He’s an Underboss, which means he takes care of the section of our territory that’s furthest from the rest of us. He rules under Dad but isn’t next in line for Capo—because he’s a second-born—although he still has a ton of responsibilities. He handles it well, of course. He’s twenty-nine and has been in his role for eight years.”

I’m starting to worry I won’t remember ages or roles when I realize he’s writing them smaller beneath each name. Smart.

He adds a line next to Leon’s name. “Leon, being the good boy that he is, married Cleo four years ago. It was an alliance marriage. He still doesn’t love her, last time I checked, but she’s nice enough. Good mom to their kid.”

They have a kid? I gape. I’m an aunt?

Another line connects, drawing down from the one between their two names. “Bastian, the little bugger, is three. The first grandchild, but still only an Underboss heir. Unless Apollo doesn’t have a son, then Capo defects to him. He likes monster trucks and dragons, so he’s pretty cool.”

My heart does a funny flip. A nephew.

“Why do you say Leon is the golden child?”

He releases a long sigh. “Because he is. Leon does everything right. He’s Dad’s favorite, though they’ll both deny it. Leon’s perfect, you’ll see soon enough.”

I don’t think anyone is perfect all the time, but I don’t mention that.

“That brings us to Cassio, the third oldest son. He was the one who stared at you like you were a full-blown alien. He’s a bit of a mess, but who can blame him? I’d probably be worse if I were him.”

My eyebrows draw in with confusion, and Matteo keeps going.

“Cassio is twenty-eight and he’s our Consigliere, which is sort of like a high-up leader and advisor. He’s ridiculously smart and calculating, so it suits him well. He’s also a widow.”

“Oh,” I breathe out mournfully.

“Yeah, it’s pretty fucked.” He draws a line for the deceased wife. “Isobel was only twenty-five and a childhood friend. It wasn’t an arranged marriage, they loved each other like crazy. They were trying for a kid for five years before she got pregnant.”

Oh no.

He nods at the look on my face. “Angél was his name. He died three minutes after Isobel—during the birth.”

I— Holy crap, I think I might cry.

That’s awful! Poor Cassio.

“That was last year, and Cassio hasn’t been the same since. He’s not cold like Apollo, but he’s… empty, I guess. I wouldn’t expect a warm and loving reception from him, but he’ll probably still talk to you, with him living here and all. Just don’t bring Isobel or Angél up.”

“I won’t,” I promise.

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