Page 45 of Curse

The ride from the tarmac to the main house is suffocatingly silent. The air is heavy, sticky with the perpetual fog that cloaks the island.

The Demonio estate spans a private island in the middle of the East River, so private that it doesn’t show up on maps. On it are residences for Aurelio and everyone at the top of the family, including me, a private air strip, a golf course, and sprawling pools and outdoor lounge areas that no one ever uses.

I try to be here as little as possible.

The oppressive architecture of Aurelio’s mansion looms ahead of us, its dark façade a relic of another era.

Inside, the house is suffocating. Thick walls, faded wallpaper, and an omnipresent gloom cling to every corner. Servants glide through the halls like shadows, heads down, voices barely above whispers.

A maid in a crisp white set of scrubs is polishing the wood paneling covering the lower half of the wall in the hallway.

As we pass, Vin asks her, “Is he in?”

She nods but keeps her eyes lowered and never stops polishing.

We reach Aurelio’s office, its grand doors heavy with carvedwood and gold detailing. I glance at Vin. He nods, and we push them open.

Aurelio sits behind his desk, his face twisted in frustration. “Fucking work it.Prendilo, stronza. Lavoraci!” he growls in his thick accent, staring down at his lap.

Though I recognize some Italian here and there from growing up around the Demonios, I’m not fluent. Vin, on the other hand, is, and when I look at him questioningly, he closes his eyes briefly, his neck flushed red.

“Papa,” he growls.

“Cazzo!” Aurelio looks up at us and snarls, swatting his hand at his lap.

A muffled rustling comes from behind the giant wood and stone desk, and a dark-haired girl lifts her head.

Realizing too late what we’ve walked into, as the girl pulls her strapless top up over her bare chest, my jaw tightens. I turn away, giving her a shred of dignity as she scurries out through a side door.

“It’s my fucking house,coglione,” Aurelio sneers. “If you don’t want to embarrass yourself, don’t barge in unannounced.”

Aurelio lets out a dark, mirthless laugh, his flat, cold eyes betraying no warmth. The jagged scar winding from his neck, over his chin, and across his cheek to the bridge of his nose catches the glow of his cigar’s ember, casting it in a sinister red light.

“Not that I didn’t know you were coming. You think my pilots don’t check in with me when they are suddenly rerouted here?”

Vin doesn’t flinch. “What’s our business with Franco?” he demands, his voice hard.

Vin purposely uses the word “our” instead of “your,” a subtlebut pointed reminder to Aurelio that he doesn’t hold all the power. The choice doesn’t escape the old man.

Aurelio’s sneer curls into a smirk as he zips his pants, sitting with his knees wide in his leather chair. He’s over 350 pounds and as tall as Vin, and when he leans back in the chair, it protests with a loud creak.

With deliberate ease, Aurelio opens the humidor on his desk, selects a cigar, and lets his gaze flick between Vin and me.

“I don’t answer to you, Vincenzo,” Aurelio snarls. “But if you want the truth, Franco does what he’s told.”

Another insult to Vin, but Vin’s expression remains impassable. “He’s a liability.”

Aurelio slams his fist onto the desk. “Why do you care about Franco? He’s nothing. A Bellamorte. He serves his purpose.”

I didn’t close the big doors behind us when we came in, and I turn when I hear Tommy, Vin’s younger brother, come in.

Tommy nods at me and unbuttons his suit jacket as he settles into an overstuffed leather chair. Crossing one ankle onto the opposite knee, he runs a hand through his thick wavy hair.

Tommy isconsigliereto the Demonio family and being groomed for politics, while Vin and I do work on the less legitimate side of the family. He’s also a few years younger than Vin and I.

Having spent his 20s getting a law degree followed by a Master’s in public policy and a PhD in international relations, he’s bookish and quieter than we are, though arguably more violent under the right circumstances.

Vin keeps his attention on Aurelio. “Papa, Franco is a fucking idiot, and giving him any information, much less a shred of power, puts us at risk.”

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