Page 18 of Ruthless King
The train doors slide open, and I draw in a breath of fresh air, the tension immediately seeping from my taut shoulder blades. This is exactly why I moved Ma out of the city. A quick thirty-minute ride on the Metro North and the chaos of the surging metropolis is nothing but a distant memory.
Shrugging off my jacket, I bypass the line of taxis and opt to walk the fifteen-minute stroll today. I skipped the gym to deal with Bo myself today and without it, I have extra energy to burn. My visit to Mamma’s this afternoon is two-fold: it’s the anniversary of King Industries so I’ve come to surprise her with a gift, and I’m checking out an investment property for myself. There’s too much money coming into myotherbusinesses, and I need a way to divest.
Plus, Ma will be ecstatic when I tell her we’ll be neighbors again.
The stroll goes by quickly with my fevered pace. The tickets are burning a hole in my jacket pocket. I owe everything I’ve become to my mother, but she’s so proud and stubborn, she never lets me spoil her. There’s no way she’ll pass this up though.
I practically sprint up the stone walkway once I reach the quaint two-story home. With roughhewn gray stone walls, pristine white siding and a small porch, it’s a modest house, but it was the most Mamma would allow me to spend on her.
Before I reach the last step, the aroma of roasted garlic and tomatoes wafts over me. My stomach rumbles despite the cannoli from only an hour ago. Nothing beats Mamma’s cooking.
“Ciao, Mamma!” I shout as I walk in. She always leaves the door unlocked, something that we fight over constantly.
“Luca, sei tu? Ma cosa fai qui?” A huge smile lights up her face as she races from the kitchen. “What are you doing here?” Flour powders her cheek and dark hair, the pungent scent emanating off her housedress in thick waves. “Che bella sorpresa.”
“Yeah, great surprise.” A familiar voice echoes from beyond the narrow hallway.
My gaze lifts to my brother’s, and my pleasant mood sours instantly. “What are you doing here, Dante?”
“Just came to see Ma. And you?”
“Same.”
“Che piacereto have both of my sons home.” She moves between us, lacing an arm through each of ours and tugs us to the kitchen.La cucinawas always the heart of our home; it didn’t matter the size. Even when we lived in that tiny walk-up off Mott Street, we’d all crowd around the crappy table and eat, drink, and laugh.
Dante used to be semi-decent back then. I eye my brother as we sit around the table, and Ma goes back to making her homemade fettucine. An old Frank Sinatra number plays in the background, and my mother begins to hum as she works.
"Why’d you really come?” I whisper to my brother. “Out of money again?”
“Fuck you, Luca. It’s not like that. I just came to see her like I said. It’s a special day.” He jabs his fingers through his wild hair, eyes narrowing. Though we share the dark brown coloring of our mother’s hair, Dante’s is a touch curlier than mine which has a soft natural wave. My brother always hated those tight curls, typically choosing to buzz them off. Right now, they’re longer than I’ve seen them in a while. Which leads me to believe there’s something going on.
Dark circles line his eyes, the whites bloodshot. A twinge of pity rattles my insides. After Papà died, Dante took to drinking and dabbled in some hardcore drugs. I thought it was all in the past.
“If you need something I can help you,” I offer on a frustrated exhale.
“Nah, I don’t need nothing from you, Luca.”
Clearing my throat, I sit up and reach for the jacket slung over my chair. “Ma, I’ve got a surprise for you.”
She puts down the pasta dough, wipes her hands and saunters closer, swaying her hips to the Frankie classic. “What surprise,figlio mio?”
“I don’t know if you remember, but today is the anniversary ofReIndustries. Papà started the business fifty years ago.”
“Don’t you meanKingIndustries?” Dante hisses.
I renamed the business when I took over, translating from the original Italian. “It’s still Papà’s company.”
“Right.”
“Anyway,” I pull the tickets from my jacket pocket and hand them to her. “I’m taking you to Italy in the summer. We’ll stay in Naples for a few days then go to Capri and Ischia. Just like old times.”
Dante snorts on a laugh. “Yeah, like old times? When could we have ever afforded a villa in Capri?”
“Dante,basta,” Ma snaps. “Your father gave us everything he could. It’s because of him that we are living in this country today. He risked everything to bring us here, and your brother has worked hard to continue that legacy.”
He scoffs again, and my fingers curl into my palm, fingernails digging into the skin. “I’m the eldest, I should have assumed that role.”
“So why didn’t you?” I bark and shoot up looming over my brother. “I didn’t ask to take over the family business. No one else stepped up.”
