Page 28 of Vicious Heir

“You’re not in position,” Bianca says, glaring at me over her clipboard. “I sent you the schedule last night. Didn’t you study it at all?”

I frown at her as I adjust my tie in the mirror. “Not really.”

“It’s yourwedding day, you idiot,” she says, exasperated. “Do you have any idea how hard this was to coordinate? Between our annoying family and the Willing-Morris nightmare, this has been absolutely horrendous.”

“You did a nice job.”

“You haven’t even seen it yet!” She stares at me like I’ve gone insane. “The car to the church is waiting downstairs. You should’ve left five minutes ago. Now everything will be pushed back?—”

“I’ll tell Luca to drive fast.”

“Drive fast. Gee, what a great idea, as if I hadn’t already accounted for that in my timing!” She throws up her hands andstarts pacing. “I’ve already fielded a dozen calls in the last half hour. The florist, the band, the bartenders. A million fucking problems.”

I watch my sister stomp around my room, looking like she’s going to burn the place down. It’d be funny if it weren’t such a pain in the ass.

“You’re acting like this is your wedding day.”

“It might as well be,” she says through her teeth. She storms over to my dresser, pulls open the bottom drawer, and fishes around until she comes up with a bottle of whiskey I keep hidden in there.

“That’s a hundred-year-old—” I don’t get to finish. She pops out the cork and takes a swig.

“You wanna finish that sentence, asshole?” She stares me down and tilts the bottle. “I’ll dump this stuff out, I swear.”

“At least drink it,” I murmur and finish adjusting my suit. “How do I look?”

She softens a touch and puts the bottle away. “You look good.” She comes over and tugs at one of my sleeves. “Do you want to see him before you leave?”

I glance at the wall. Dad’s room is on the other side of the building, but it’s like I can feel him. “He won’t know either way.”

“But you will.” She doesn’t look at me. “I know it’s hard. I won’t judge you if you decide you can’t. But I think you should.”

“What did you tell people? About why he won’t be there?”

“Sick.” She shrugs slightly and tucks her clipboard under her arm. “It’s true.”

“We won’t be able to hide how bad he’s gotten for much longer. The Capos are already asking questions.”

“That’s why you’re rushing into this, right? Get a good, pretty wife from a solid family?—”

“How do you know she’s pretty?”

“I did my research, you idiot.” She punches my arm lightly. “Anyway, you’re ready. We both know you are.”

I look back at the mirror. I see so much of my father staring back. His eyes, his cheeks, his jaw. Even his hair and his nose. But I have my mother’s temperament, much colder, much more calculating, while my father was a passionate man when he was in his prime, a lot like Bianca is now.

She’s right. I’m ready. I’ve been ready for years, ever since Father was diagnosed and I started taking more and more of his responsibilities. But it’s one thing to be the power behind the power and another to take on the official mantle of the Don.

“I’ll meet you at the car,” I tell her and lean in to give her a quick kiss on the cheek. “Thanks for your work.”

“No problem.” She punches me again. “Don’t take too long.”

I stride down the hall. My father’s sitting in his chair at his small table, watching an old Western on his little TV. His nurse, Donatella, is with him. She casually feeds him a spoonful of applesauce, and that little gesture strikes me right in the chest.

My father was a powerful man. He was physically imposing. Nobody in Philadelphia ever stood up to him and survived for long. They say my old man killed with his bare hands just because it struck more fear in the hearts of his enemies.

But looking at him now, he’s just a shell, getting fed like a baby.

“Hello, Papa,” I say, sitting beside him. I lean forward, looking into his eyes. He turns to me, frowning a bit, and mumbles to himself. He takes off his watch, fumbling with it, and begins the arduous process of getting it back on.

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