Page 3 of Deception

“Come on, Ero.” I pick him up, pulling Adriano close to my side.

The kitchen door hangs open, ajar.

“What do we tell him, Gian?” My great-aunt Eva’s voice trembles. “How do we tell him?!”

“Tell me what?” My voice rings hollow in my head, and I draw my little brothers closer to me. The elders are all there, gathered around the table like some holiday meeting.

Every face is grim.

“Ay! Mio bambino…”Aunt Eva hides her face, sobbing into her handkerchief.

Uncle Giancarlo nods, the way he does when he’s got a decision to make. Solemn. Whether it’s a call to end a life, or which meat he wants on his sandwich. Always thoughtful. Always careful. Always stern.

“Mio figlio,”he mumbles, opening his arms to me. It means everything for him to make that gesture. In this way, on this night.

It means I’m a man.

But tonight …

It’s an apology, as well. I feel his arms encircle me, pull me close as I start to shake.

“Mamma? Papa?” It’s all I manage past the raw panic choking me.

“And Catalina,buon anima.”

God rest their souls.

1

ALESSANDRO

“Idon’t like this.”

“You don’t like anything, Adri!” Ciro snorts, flipping one of his knives over in his palm.

“Seriously. Everybody callsmethe hateful one…” Fiero paces, like he does. It’s not nervous, it’s feral. Sometimes he scares me. “You could kill a guy just staring at him like that, Adri.”

Adriano runs his tongue over his teeth. He hates when the twins call him that.

“Someone has to make sure we all stay on task, Ero. Otherwise, you two would just murder everything in sight.”

“And then go catch a movie, or maybe hit the club!” Ciro quips. Ma always called him her littlegiullare. Jester. Quick with a joke. Always smiling.

Not like he’s any less violent than Ero. Who hasn’t smiled since the day our parents died.

I suppose that’s my fault.

Raising the three of them while coming up in the family nearly broke me. They saw blood on my shirt and on my hands from my first hit and on. Their own hands were stained far too soon after.

“Are you gonna fucking torture me or what?” The man strapped to the chair coughs out a gout of blood and spittle.

“He makes a valid point. Finish beating the answers out of him and be done with it,” Adriano orders.

“Patience and pain, my friend. Both like wine. Let it rest. Savor the taste.” Ciro kisses his fingertips. “Not my best work, but you get the idea.”

“You do your best work in your sleep. Only time you stop talking,” Ero deadpans, clacking the pliers in his hands.

The bloodied and swollen assassin shivers, his bluster gone.

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