Page 76 of Brutal Power

I sit back and raise my eyebrows. “What are you talking about? I remember he was always alone in here.”

She laughs at me and shakes her head. “That’s because you were a little kid most of the time, but when you were growing up, your father had a rotating cast of idiot friends that always had his back. Some of them died, others moved away, but he always had advisors.” She grins and looks over at the bookshelf towarda picture of the whole family, Dad looming over us like a proud giant. “Your father would rant and rave after you all went to sleep about whatever was on his mind. He was overflowing all the time.”

That hits me like a hammer. I sit back, almost too stunned to process. “But he always seemed so calm.”

“That’s because he dealt with his problems. Maybe not in the healthiest way, since I think the stress got to him, but he still dealt with it. But, Brody, if you keep on smothering yourself, I’m worried you’re going to have a harder time than he did. Dad wasn’t alone, and you aren’t either.”

Mom gets up, squeezes my shoulder, and leaves the office. I stare at the wall, trying to match up what she just told me with the memories of my old man, and maybe it’s starting to make some sense. He had his captains and his lieutenants, and they were constantly having little meetings in here. It’s totally possible that I made a whole lot of assumptions about my old man, but I never really knew him, not like an adult would.

That doesn’t change my situation. I’m not keeping things from Seamus because I’m trying to shoulder the whole burden alone—I’m doing it because the fewer people that know my plan, the safer it’ll be.

I can’t change course now. I’ll have to keep on alone for a little while. But now I feel like I see a path forward based on a more realistic picture of my father, and based on the way I want to be as a man and a leader of my family.

Chapter 40

Elena

We fall into a routine, and it’s good for a while.

Brody doesn’t mention moving back to his old neighborhood and I don’t push him. I feel a little guilty, since I’m being kind of selfish by staying at the oasis. I mean, he’s the leader of his family, and he should be as close to them as possible—and there’s no real reason why we can’t live at his place, except I’m more comfortable here.

I feel bad, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

And everything else is too good.

We’re sleeping together regularly now. Sometimes, we’re up half the night having sex and talking to each other, and I feel like I’m getting to know him in ways I never dreamed were possible. He’s opening up, slowly at first, but more and more each day, and I find myself telling him things I’ve never told anyone else. He doesn’t judge me, and I don’t judge him, and it’s like I’m becoming a more confident person because of that.

Except I start noticing small things. He stays late at work a few times, and when I ask about it, he’s cagey. One Saturdaymorning, he disappears for a few hours, and refuses to say where he went, only that he had a work meeting.

There are other unexplained absences. And under most circumstances, I probably wouldn’t think twice about it, but he’s moody and brooding, like there’s something seriously wrong, and I start to get paranoid.

“Can we talk?” It’s been a month since he moved into the oasis. There hasn’t been much progress on the Waterfront project—every time I mention trying to make something happen, he just waves me off and says he’s handling it—and I’m at the point where I wonder if he just gave up on our plans.

He puts down his coffee and leans back in his chair. We’re out back and it’s a beautiful morning. Except I’m so nervous I’m starting to sweat a little bit, and instead of sitting right next to him, I put the table between us. His eyebrows raise, since normally I like to be as close as possible, but right now I need a little distance to keep my confidence up.

“What’s the matter?” he asks.

“I need you to be honest with me.” I shimmy in my chair and clear my throat. “I want to start out by saying that I know we don’t owe each other anything. We never had a conversation about how this would work—” I gesture between the two of us. “And I know you’re probably used to, uh, a much looser lifestyle, so I’m trying very hard to be generous here, and?—”

He holds up a hand. “Baby, what the hell are you talking about?”

“You’ve been disappearing a lot lately and I just want to say that I’m not really mad, I mean I don’t like it and I thought we had something nice going, but I just want you to be honest with me and tell me—” I stop because I can’t even finish that sentence.He’s staring with pure astonishment on his face, and that kind of pisses me off. I mean, it’s not like he’s been subtle about it.

“Do you think I’m seeing someone else?” he asks.

“It’s the sneaking around, Brody. You keep disappearing and when I ask about it, you brush me off and pretend like it’s a work thing. And no, don’t start shaking your head, I’m not being paranoid.”

“You’re not,” he agrees and it feels like a knife to my kidney. And then he says, “But you’re wrong. I’m not seeing anyone else.”

“Just tell me the truth, okay? I’m not going to lose my mind and start crying or something. I just want to know where I stand.”

Mostly so I know how I can feel about him, because I thought our relationship was trending in one direction, but right now I feel like it’s all about to crash and burn.

“I swear, I’m not seeing anyone but you.” He hesitates then gets up from his chair and comes around the table. He kneels next to me and takes my hand in his, and he looks completely sincere. “I should have told you sooner. I wanted to say something, but you’re not going to like it.”

I squeeze his hand, my heart racing. “Just tell me, okay? Just say it so we can deal with whatever’s going on.”

“I’ve been meeting with Luciano Santoro.”

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