Page 21 of The Councilor

As soon as I took another step into the room, his body stiffened. “You’re ten minutes late.”

“The subway was late.”

“You don’t need to be taking the goddamn subway,” he barked. “How many times have I told you that?” He was more irritated than normal, just another reason I should be nervous.

“Dad. I’ve told you time and time again, I need to make my own life.”

His deep exhalation was another indication of just how displeased he was with my choices. I wasn’t certain at all what to expect when he turned around but I could instantly tell by the disdainful look on his face he didn’t approve of what I was wearing. I still had my hair in the same bun, although I’dremoved my glasses. He didn’t need to see the lengths I went to in order to try to hide who I was.

The fact there’d been double the usual number of soldiers protecting the exterior was another clear indication something was very off.

“You don’t need to look dowdy all the time, Raphaella.”

“I came from work. You demanded I come immediately. Don’t you remember?”

He pointed his finger at me, which was new. It was also easier to see how angry he was. But I wasn’t certain his rage that I didn’t fit the Bernardi look was the reason his hand was shaking.

“Don’t you backtalk me. I am still your father.”

Sighing, I tried to hold my tongue. Arguing with him never did any good. When he got in his ‘mood,’ it was easier to comply. I headed toward his bar, noticing an open bottle of wine. Given my mother drank white and Dad preferred his scotch, I was more than curious if he’d had a previous guest.

“I don’t want to argue, Dad. It’s obvious you had another reason for insisting I come to dinner.”

“Sit down, Raphaella.”

His command was dark, his eyes piercing mine. I was more uncomfortable than I’d ever been around him. Yes, I’d heard from Sophia my father’s business had taken an odd turn. She couldn’t provide any details because as the two daughters of the family, we’d never been privy to aspects of his business. What we’d learned over the years, including that he was a ruthless savage, we’d found on the internet.

We weren’t stupid. We’d learned early on he was a mafia Don, an old school leader born in Sicily. While we’d never visited the country where he was born, the research I’d done in the Italian city had indicated a bloody past. I’d never been forced to give his world much of a second thought. I’d been born into an empire where soldiers had protected my family at all costs, following or driving us around as if chauffeurs. I also knew my father had been responsible for the murders of a solid dozen people. That much I’d overheard from an argument he’d had with my mother a long time ago. I’d been forced to remind myself that he’d been born into the empire; he hasn’t chosen who or what he was.

I’d only really understood and appreciated living a free life when I’d moved out.

But to see him so agitated was unnerving.

I moved closer to his desk, trying to keep the glass of wine steady. As soon as I sat down, he took a few seconds to study me again before doing the same. He pulled out a manila file from his desk, keeping it closed after placing it directly in the center. My father was also anal, requiring almost perfect organization in his house and especially in his ranks. I could swear there was even a specific dress code for the men who worked for him. They always wore suits. I’d never seen one of them in anything else.

An even crazier thing was that I knew Dad owned several legitimate businesses, currently renovating an Italian restaurant, but he never talked about them. He’d never brought home a friend. And I didn’t even know if he had a single female working for him. If I didn’t love him so much, I’d call him a chauvinistic pig.

When he started talking, it took me a few seconds to truly listen to what he was saying. “Raphaella, you know I’ve done my bestto be sensitive to your rather… ridiculous needs. From your sculpting to insisting you take some internship position, I’ve done my best to support you both emotionally and financially.”

He didn’t ask me whether that was right. He simply made a statement, his usual method of doing business. I took a little of the reins anyway, learning early on you needed to have a backbone around my father or the man would walk all over you.

“I know that, Dad. I’m old enough it was past time I had a life of my own.” Well, that didn’t go over well, his mouth suddenly pinching. “I’m an independent woman, doing nothing more than carving out a life I need to live.” Why not throw caution to the wind?

He took a few seconds, leaning back in his chair. It was easy to tell he was fuming but somewhere inside his big, fat head, he knew I was right.

“You weren’t raised to be independent whether you want to believe that or not. You were raised as a mafia princess, a woman destined to become bigger than yourself.”

Okay, I was starting to get nervous. He’d never tossed the ‘mafia princess’ phrase in my face this way. It had always been in jest, with laughter in his voice and a smile on his face. I took a deep breath, trying to curtail my anger. “What do you want, Dad?”

“The first rule of thumb in your life is to honor your family. That’s something I’ve explained in detail to your brother and sister alongside you through the years.”

Yes, he had. I did nothing more than nod. Loyalty and complete respect for his position was required. I’d heard of his brutality with men he’d believed had dishonored him.

“Good. I’m glad you understand your position within the family and it’s not one I take lightly.” He looked away for a few seconds. “I’ve made a decision, ultimately one that will be good for this family.”

“A decision?” A feeling of faintness washed over me.

“Yes, it’s time you contributed to this family, to accept what you were groomed for.”

---