Page 21 of Bitter Poetry
“Well, alright then.” He takes another sip of his beer. My rash outburst seems to appease him. “We need a fucking plan. Everyone says that Ettore is firing blanks. Two wives. No kid with the first. There are rumors the baby his second wife had wasn’t his.”
“It’s his kid,” I say, feeling a brief flutter of amusement because I know what’s coming.
“Not one he acknowledges. I swear the sprog had Cosmo’s eyes the one time I saw it. Poor fucker was doomed whichever brother his mother spread her legs for.”
The mother in question was a lap dancer known to be liberal with recreational drugs. Their wedding was done on the quiet. Then the baby came, and everyone knew early on that something wasn’t running to Ettore’s program. Both mother and baby mysteriously moved out of state. They divorced. As far as I know, he has never visited them.
I sit on the couch opposite Christian and let my head roll back, closing my eyes.
“You’re not going to let the marriage go ahead, are you? Like you’ve got a fucking plan here, haven’t you?”
“I don’t have a plan,” I admit. “I’m not in any position to offer myself as a credible don. Cedro said as much to me this morning right before he announced he was giving Carmela to Ettore to keep her safe. Ettore has already been told, which means his men will know, and probably most if not all, the capos. It’s already done.”
“Ettore is a slimy prick.”
He works for the man indirectly, so the vehemence of his words brings a fleeting smile to my lips. “I agree with you.”
“Promise me I can be the one to kill him when the time comes,” he mutters.
I don’t give him the words he needs. I’ve been imagining strangling the fucker all day. Chris is going to need to get in the queue. “His hands on her today made me fucking livid. But I also understand my limitations.”
“I got your back,” he says, again. “However this goes down.”
“I know you do.” His unwavering loyalty and willingness to do anything I might ask offers me something when I feel like I have nothing. He’s also a consummate actor who has Ettorebuying into his bullshit. For reasons that escape me, Ettore thinks Christian is loyal to him.
But he’s still too young—we both are. To some extent, being the consigliere gives you power above and beyond the capos. But at the same time, you have neither soldiers nor assets beyond wealth. You sit on the periphery, at least we did until my uncle made the shift—that didn’t end so well. My law firm, established by my grandfather, manages all the contractual obligations. I know the collective family business, including the strengths and weaknesses of the various branches and operations better than anyone.
My role, and that of my father before me, is an advisor.
The direct orders always come via Ettore. He controls the capos. He has his own businesses and men.
The situation fucking burns. The thought of Ettore with Carmela—just fucking no.
But it’s not only about me. I have a mother, and as much as Christian can probably handle anything I throw his way, I’m not fucking reckless, and I won’t play a role in getting him killed.
“He won’t want you around,” Christian says. “He’d be fucking stupid to push you out, but he also won’t want you near.”
My brother would have made a good consigliere if only he didn’t enjoy killing so much.
“Which is why I’m going to need you to be my eyes and ears.”
CHAPTER 9
CARMELA
It’s the day after the funeral. At my father’s request, I leave Jessica at home and visit him at the convalescent home alone.
Where he drops the bomb.
I’m not marrying Dante anymore; I’m marrying Ettore.
“No!”
His face is stricken. That look slams into the guilt sector of my mind like a sledgehammer. He had a relapse last night. I can’t lose him—I just buried my mother!
Personal feelings aside, it doesn’t take a genius to work out that Jessica and I would be food for the dogs if we lost him too… but Ettore?
The machine my father has been hooked up to post-relapse begins to beep as his blood pressure spikes. A nurse rushes in. He waves her off. She ignores him so I take this to mean the beeping is significant.
