Page 115 of Married with Mayhem

And all the wolf pack rules apply; if you pick a fight with one of them, you fight them all.

Eight years have passed since I was in this room and nothing has changed other than a few more trophy heads added to the walls. The heavy smell of Uncle Cass’s pipe smoke must be baked into the dark paneling. A reminder that this is his domain and he’s never far off. Even when he’s physically elsewhere, his four clones can be counted on to do his bidding.

Julian works a toothpick in his mouth and sits behind his father’s desk. He was the first one to follow me in here, cutting short my request for a few minutes of privacy. His dark eyes bore into me with the intensity of a wild predator. Unlike his brothers, there’s a deliberate manner to his words and actions. Even if I didn’t know these men, I’d still pick him out as the eldest. Maybe because one firstborn son recognizes another.Julian expects to be in charge because that’s the way it’s always been.

“Did you get your business squared away?” he says.

Cursing him in silence, I press the send button on my text to Sabrina.

I love you too, cupcake. Miss you more than you know.

Her voice was shaky just now. She’d been crying. I’ll forever be haunted by the image of her peacefully sleeping with no clue that she’ll soon wake up to an empty bed.

Sabrina is right; she deserved far better than a fucking note. Nonetheless, I’d make the same choice again and again if that’s what it takes to keep her out of this snake pit.

My one big regret is not telling Sabrina that I love her before I left. I’m furious with myself for overlooking this. I’ve known that I love her since the night of the card game at Gino’s, when my murderous streak was ignited at the sight of her in danger. The words just took time to come together because they aren’t words I’m used to using.

Now I’m stuck here in my uncle’s lair and being stared at by his deranged offspring when I should be with my girl, holding her and telling her those words over and over.

I shove the phone in my back pocket and delete all emotions from my face before meeting Julian’s flat stare. “Yeah, I’m done.”

Julian nods. “Good to hear.”

On my right, his brother Tye is sprawled in a black leather armchair. The chair is set in the reclining position and he pretends to snore with boredom. Tye reached the pinnacle of the hockey world and spent three seasons playing pro in Toronto before an injury sidelined him for good. While hockey fights are far from unusual, Tye took the trend to the extreme and plenty ofpeople attended his games for the guarantee of seeing blood on the ice.

But even Tye’s fighting attitude can’t beat his psycho younger brother. Gaetano, who only answers to Getty, leans against the wall at my back and plays with a knife. The blade is curved and looks sharp enough to slice off his dick but that doesn’t stop him from twirling it by the handle and flipping it around nonstop. So far he’s caught it with neat precision every time but I won’t be too bothered if he misses and loses a few fingers.

Fortunato, the youngest, is the least troublesome brother. He leans against another wall and fixes a dent in his hat. If left on his own, Fort would probably be happy being left alone to ride his horses endlessly through the hills surrounding Storm’s Eye Ranch. However, when he’s called to side with his brothers for any reason, he’s as tough to take down as the rest of them.

“I already let Dad know you’re finally here,” Julian says. The chair creaks when he shifts his weight. His heavily scuffed cowboy boots are propped up on the desk. “He said you sure took your time. He couldn’t wait around to find out when your ass would roll in.”

All bullshit. I didn’t ‘take my time’ at all. I left before dawn and drove seven hours straight to get here. I have no doubt my uncle would have been gone no matter what time I showed up. He’s in San Francisco at some big gathering of western mafia bosses. I’m told he won’t be back until the day after tomorrow.

“But,” Julian says, switching the toothpick to the other side of his mouth, “he was glad to know you’re coming with us. It’ll be just like old times, Monte. You can meet with Dad when you get back.”

Tye pretends to wake up from his slumber. “Are we going yet or should I take another fucking nap?”

“Pipe down, Rip Van Winkle,” Julian grumbles.

“Fuck you.” Tye flips both middle fingers but doesn’t leap from his chair to throttle his big brother. The Tempesta boys are always willing to tackle each other when the occasion arises but Julian shoots a warning glare that says this isn’t the time.

“The horses are saddled,” Fort cuts in. “Supplies are packed. We can leave anytime.”

Getty continues to twirl his knife with a savage grin. Tye cracks a wide yawn.

The official story is that a section of perimeter fencing was knocked down in a thunderstorm last night. A few members of the ranch’s prized cattle herd are now loose and assumed to be roaming the surrounding hills.

This might be true. But it’s also true that there’s plenty of staff here at the ranch who could be sent to retrieve them. The job definitely doesn’t require all four brothers plus their visiting cousin. Cass Tempesta orchestrated this outcome for a reason.

If he wanted a bullet in my head, he didn’t need to get nearly this imaginative. I don’t know what my uncle is up to but as long as nobody speaks Sabrina’s name I’m willing to join my cousins on this bonding mission or whatever the fuck it is.

Julian pulls his boots off the huge desk and stands. “Pay your respects, boys.” He gestures to the opposite wall.

The rest of them stand at attention and face the wall so I do the same. This is a familiar ritual. The vast study with its high vaulted ceilings is where my uncle tends to spend most of his time when he’s home. His desk is positioned to face the shrine to his dead wife. No one can leave without gazing at the painted image of Teresa Castelli Tempesta, saying a silent prayer, and making the sign of the cross.

Above the black stone fireplace hangs a painting that’s larger than the woman it depicts ever was in life. Teresa Castelli married Cassio Tempesta when she was only twenty years old. The painting, like the photo of her on the wall at Gino’s, is fromher wedding day. Her young, radiant face smiles shyly and the painter must have been told to add a halo effect to make her look angelic.

At the time, my aunt must have thought she was in a fairy tale. One minute she’s taking orders behind the counter of her father’s pizzeria and then the next she’s being swept off her feet by the heir to the Tempesta family and carried off to his castle sitting on thirty thousand acres.

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