Page 47 of Where Dark Hearts Devour
“Make sure you stay out of trouble,” she warns. “I don’t want you to give either of those men cause to speak to your father again.”
My chin jerks with the effort of holding back a bold retort, and I settle for sticking my tongue out at her departing back. Not too long ago, I would have felt shame—so much shame—at the thought of giving a man reason to “speak to” my father, but these days ... I feel like I have bigger problems. Like, how am I meant to marry a man whose brother makes me so mad, so angry, sohot, I can barely think straight?
The voices congregate in Papa’s office, and I hear the word “port” as I get closer. The door is slightly open, and I can’t stop myself from glancing through it as I pass.
All three men are standing over Papa’s desk. Papa and Savero have their heads down, studying a spread of documents, but Cristiano’s eyes rise the second I pause at the gap.
I mentally kick myself. Now I’ve been spotted, it would be rude to continue on by without greeting my husband-to-be.
I push the door wide and wait for him to raise his head. When he doesn’t, I make a play of clearing my throat. Papa opens his mouth to presumably dismiss me from the “men’s work,” but Savero beats him to it.
“Miss Castellano.” His lips twitch into what I assume is a sort of smile.
“Mr. Di Santo.”
He draws in a tight breath. “Making the most of the sun, I see.”
I glance down at my outfit and mentally kick myself again. I didn’t know we were expecting company for a start, and I needed something I didn’t mind getting covered in paint. Hencewhy I chose to wear my faded old denim cutoffs and a red bikini top.
“I’m painting,” I reply, my cheeks heating under his scrutiny. “And it’s a beautiful day out.”
“It is.” He looks at me with no emotion. “Well, I’ll let you get back to it.”
It takes me a few seconds to realize I’ve been dismissed.
I can’t stop my gaze from darting to Cristiano. He has a pen resting against his bottom lip, and his focus on me is thoughtful. I suddenly need the breeze of the outdoors to cool my skin.
Feeling acutely self-aware, I turn my back on the three men and walk out to the garden.
My easel is where I left it, along with the landscape watercolor I began just before Penelope arrived.
While our garden isn’t enormous, it backs onto an orchard, and with it being late spring, the blossom is abundant. I’ve already captured the pale blue of the sky warmed by the blistering white sun, so I mix some greens and browns and set to work.
I’m so absorbed in trying to capture the scene I don’t hear footsteps approaching from the house until Cristiano squats down beside me. I’m suddenly infused with nerves, and when I look back at my painting, it seems stupid, like something a child might paint.
“Don’t stop on my account.” His tone of voice is softer than I expect, but I still hate that he’s eyeing my painting and probably seeing all of its imperfections.
I try not to look at him. “Shouldn’t you be in Papa’s office discussing the port?”
There’s a long pause before he replies. “The port is Sav’s thing, not mine. If I were still invested in the family businesses, I’d probably have sided with our father on this, but I’m not. Sav’s in charge, and this is important to him.”
I swallow. I need to ask him something even though I don’t particularly want to know the answer. “If you’re not invested in the family’s businesses, why are you still here?”
He watches me casually as I soak the brush in water and catch a little paint on the tip.
“Moral support. Even though Sav has been Father’s head capo for years now, becoming the don so soon was ... unexpected. Not all our soldiers and associates have accepted him yet. I’m staying a while longer to reassure the rest of the family he’s the right man for the job.”
Something in his words strikes an uncomfortable chord. “If he’s been head capo for years, why hasn’t he been accepted as the natural successor?”
Another long pause follows, and I try to study him out of the corner of my eye. He grinds his jaw quietly.
“He has a different character to our father, that’s all. He has different ideas and priorities. People can be funny about change.”
I always thought I was one of those people, fearing change, fearing growth, fearing the idea that things move on. Sadness pricks at the corners of my eyes. Every second I move on is another step further from having my mama in my life.
I remember being in pieces, inconsolable for days, when I started art college. The change, the moving on, was terrifying. Even moving into the apartment felt wrong. It was so different from anything I’d known when Mama was around, but I had to do it. It was one thing for me to suffer through the night but a whole other thing for me to put everyone else through it too.
I’ve felt the guilt of moving on for five long years.
