Page 4 of Cara
My mother’s wails have stopped.
Stand still, Marcello.Focus. Forget she’s there.
“I’d be proud if it wasn’t that damn loyalty that made you betray this family.” He pushes himself up from his seat, slipping a glowing cigar between his teeth. “For months, Xavier, you made a fool of me. Your Papa. And worse, yourBoss. You went back to your daily life without awordof concern for that woman. I admit, I began to believe I’d done my job correctly.”
His consigliere grabs a piece of melon from the tray on thetable, popping it through his teeth. From the window, Mama’s housemaid is pressed against the glass, trying to decipher the words she’ll eventually relay to my mother later tonight.
For her sake, I hope he chooses a different location to exact his punishment on me.
“Every man here, family or not, respects you. Not just in this house, but in all the houses. Enemy of ours or not, you have been brought up to be respected, feared, powerful. Why,why, would you throw all of that away for a woman? Asoiledwoman, at that?”
“Are you gonna keep talking or are you gonna beat me?” I gesture boldly to the table, letting him see how little remorse I have, letting himreallysoak in the last four months I spent deceiving him so I could find myself right here, in this moment. Therealwinner. “Is this gonna take long? Should I have a seat?”
His pearly veneers bare at my audacity.
Devo essere impazzito.To push him in a moment such as this, Imustbe crazy. His men look equally offended that I dare to open my mouth. Arturo’s eyes flash to the man behind me, bright with the promise of rage.
There’s still an insolent smirk on my face when the world expands into sudden darkness.
“He’s moving, Boss.”
Before my eyes can open, my ears enhance what’s around me. The whistle of the harbor. Sloshing waves battering wooden planks. Seagulls cawing for food.
I don’t have to look to know I'm near the docks, but I do, peeling my eyes apart with difficulty. My lashes are stuck to my swollen eyelids, coated in a thick layer of dryness. As my head pounds from the back of my skull, I understand it’s blood.
The windows reveal the time.
It’s dusk. An entire day has passed.
My head hangs low to inspect the industrial rope binding my wrists together, its rough texture biting harshly into my skin. The warehouse floor is strewn with timber and scattered pallets. Glinting shards of glass. Relics of factory equipment.
This place. It’s not one of ours.
This warehouse is owned by my father-in-law.
My eyes scan the room for Vito Marin, coming up short. Instead, I find my father leaning against the wall, waiting for me. I freeze, sensing someone at my back where I cannot turn.
You’ve been through this before.
Many times. More than you can count.
Steady your heart. Dissociate. Let them wage war upon your body and give them nothing.
“You are my son.” Arturo’s eyes are glistening. “You don’t understand what it takes to be a father and do what I do. The conventional rules never apply to a boss. The Family always comes first. You know this. I know I’ve said it enough times.”
He straightens, not a scuff on his sand-colored suit. “It breaks my heart to do this.”
As if he has one.
Uninterested in listening to him try to justify what he’s about to do, I turn my face until I glimpse the man behind me.
Dario. One of Vito’s men.
The bastard has always reeked, and today is no different. It isn’t until I strain to meet his gaze that his grip on the steel pipe loosens, clattering to the ground with an echoing thud.
A year ago, I caught the man in the back of a truck with a capo’s wife. He’d been brought in by Vito in preparation for the joining of the companies. He looked as fearful then as he does now, apologizing as he scoops the weapon from the floor.
A hand captures my chin, jerking me forward.
