Page 69 of Cruel Tyrant

“Uh, I mean, I got decent grades in high school.”

He leads me back to the cars. “That’s not really confidence-inspiring, dolcezza.”

“Is this an interview or something?”

“We’ll say this is the first round.”

I roll my eyes and elbow his ribs. “Don’t be a dick.”

He wheezes. I hit him right in the big bruise. “I’m only saying, you have to win this business.”

“I have an Ivy League degree, remember?”

He looks thoughtful. “That’s a good point. Maybe you’re up to the challenge.”

“What exactly is this job, husband of mine?”

He shrugs a little and looks at his nails. “You’ll find out.”

“Don’t you dare make this into a surprise.”

“Sorry, baby, but you’ll have to handle the suspense a little bit longer.”

“You are truly a monster.”

He laughs and we get into the car together. I watch him, trying not to smile, because he seems lighter than he did only a few hours ago. Burying Bruno was hard, but now we’re talking about the future, and I think he’s finally starting to imagine what life can be like if he’s thinking more than a few days ahead.

“I love you,” he says, and I’m surprised at how easily it comes out, and how natural it sounds from him. It’s the first time he’s said it.

“I love you too,” I reply and lean across the car to kiss him.

“Everyone’s getting together for dinner later tonight,” he says as he pulls out and heads back to the oasis. “Sort of a gathering in Bruno’s honor. You’re coming?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for anything.”

He nods, squinting straight ahead, and when I take his right hand in mine, he squeezes.

Chapter 41

Davide

The war has the entire organization mobilized. It took Bruno’s death to finally kick my brother’s ass into gear, but now he’s finally taking it seriously. Every single soldier under the control of the Bianco Famiglia understands the situation: kill the Santoros, no hesitation.

Everyone except for me. I drive my territory with Emilio and we talk about Bruno, because it’s easier than pretending like we aren’t thinking about him all the time, but we aren’t sneaking around the city at night cutting throats. There’s still action—it’s a war and killing is what I do best—but not like before. No more stupid risks.

I park the car outside of a boring-looking laundromat in a nice neighborhood. It’s the sort of place that doesn’t need a laundromat, and not many people come in, except there always seems to be a few really big, really scary-looking guys lurking around the front glaring at anyone who walks past. I enter and nod to them as I head into the back.

And stop in my office door.

My wife’s sitting behind the desk, right where I left her, looking over my books. But sitting across from her is my father.

He’s not in a wheelchair anymore. It’s been a few months since the shooting, and he’s gone through this rehab assignment. The physical therapists all say he’s about as good as he’s going to get, which means he’ll always walk with the aid of a crutch. He complains about it, but my old man’s tough as nails.

“This is a surprise,” I say to him. “What are you doing here?”

“Aside from telling me somewhat terrifying stories from your childhood?” Stefania asks, eyebrows raised. “Mostly he’s distracting me from my job.”

Dad laughs and shoots her an amused look. I love the way my wife gets along with my family. So much has changed, and she’s really blossomed into herself these last few months, like she’s finally feeling comfortable enough to be herself around them. It’s amazing to watch.

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