Page 2 of Bitter Poetry
“That he was in America? Just a guess. He will visit the grave tomorrow, I presume, and return home?”
“That’s his intention, yes.”
“I appreciate Leon paying his respects in his own way, and how difficult it must be for him to be here. Please thank him for me and tell him to give my love to his mother. You can let him know I’ll be joining them in Italy soon.” She takes her leave, the housekeeper fussing over her as I show myself out.
I drive back to my city apartment, where Leon is staying over with me.
I find him sitting on the couch with a drink and a ball game playing on the flatscreen. The volume is down low. Perhaps more of a distraction than genuine interest.
Seeing him brings back memories of our younger years—we had some wild times, both before and after we graduated.
“How did it go?” he asks, switching the game off and sitting up.
“About as good as you’d expect.” I loosen my tie and pull it off, then shrug out of my suit jacket and toss it over the arm of the couch before heading over to get a drink.
“I assume Ettore was there?” he asks.
Being back here will reopen old wounds.
“Full to the brim with fake sorrow.” I pour myself a drink and lift the bottle in question. He shakes his head, indicating the half-full glass in his hand.
“Has your mother made a decision?” he asks.
I take the couch opposite, sip my drink, and enjoy the burn. “Yeah. She’s going to settle her affairs and head over to join your mom.”
“Good,” he says. “She’s better off there. What about Christian?”
“He is moving in with me.”
He raises a brow. “I heard he’s been made… and got kicked out of school.”
I grimace. “Yes to both. The latter was under orders. He might have gotten enthusiastic about the execution.”
Leon grins. “He was always special.”
“Not in a good way,” I say dryly.
His smile fades. “I’m sorry about your father.”
“Thanks.” I sip my whiskey.
The two of us were always close, although he was a year ahead of me at college. I’d forgotten how easy it was to be around him, how the conversation always flowed whether we were arguing about a game, getting shitfaced, or discussing more serious matters. He carries a casual air of confidence that is as much about his upbringing as his six-five presence. Despite spending the last few years acting the playboy in the Mediterranean, he’s anything but. His father’s death was a loss for the wider family as well as our own, but Leon’s choice to leave was a different kind of blow.
“You think Don Cedro will name you consigliere?” he asks.
“Yes. He also said he would tell Carmela about our marriage arrangement.”
“You good with that?”
“It’s what my father wanted.”
“Areyougood with that?”
Yeah, I’d forgotten what a pushy bastard he could be. “I am.”
“You don’t sound fucking certain. If he’s going to tell her, you need to be certain.”
“I know you think of her as a little sister, so don’t come at me. But right now, I enjoy my freedom; either way, I don’t underestimate the task ahead of me in filling my father’s shoes. I’ve said it needs to be her decision. But she’s still only seventeen, and if she doesn’t want this, I’m not going to act butt hurt. Hopefully, she goes to college, pushing it out another few years.”
