Page 6 of The Sicilian Bastard
How did I not know they were going on a honeymoon?
"Who's going to be in charge while you're gone?" I interjected, cool as a cucumber.
Vito looked into my eyes and shot me in the soul.
"I asked Agosto to come home for a few weeks." Vito went back to buttering his roll like he didn't shoot me in the back with my pistol.
All those familial feelings went right back into the abyss where they began. I couldn't help feeling anything but betrayal under my blank face. I knew they didn't trust me. Why would they? I was the bastard.
"That's a good idea," Rosalina interrupted and Nicolo scoffed.
"I'm needed back in New York," Nicolo sputtered.
"No, you're not," Vito countered.
"Your father wants you to go," Agosto spoke for the first time and I had to hold back a sneer in his direction.
How could Vito put him in charge? He was a playboy. Someone who didn't take anything seriously. Not to mention he didn't even live in Philadelphia anymore. He wouldn't know what was going on. The rest of dinner flew by quickly as I let the conversation around me roll in one ear and out the other. The only thing left for me was to find a warm, wet hole to sink into. Someone who'd scream her pain loud and proud. That was the only release I'd have tonight. It's not like I could very well kill Agosto. I let that idea take fruit in my mind before shaking it off. No, I couldn't kill him.
"You all right,fratello?" Vito clamped his hand on my shoulder as we were getting ready to go back to the hotel and get ready for the night.
"Fine." I nodded and chucked my chin in the direction we were all headed out of.
Vito stopped me and stared for a minute before he blew out a frustrated breath. "Are you sure?" He didn't believe me. His inflection told me so.
I'd tortured enough people to tell how someone meant something to come out of their mouth. Vito was trying to hide the fact he didn't trust me from me. Unfortunately for him, I was the best enforcer we had and I knew how to read people very well. A little too well. The telltale sign of distress from Vito was his tick. When he was trying to dissuade another person, his temple throbbed. If he did it a lot, then the throbbing would grow until he got a full-fledged migraine. Of course, I knew this because I spent my time watching people.
"Everything is perfect…fratello." I shouldn't have paused before calling him my brother. It gave me away.
"If this is about leadership, I can assure you that you have my trust and faith," Vito said. He was playing on my insecurities, but his actions spoke louder than his words.
As far as I was concerned, I wasn't a part of this family at all. I've always felt like an outsider. They've always treated me like one. As soon as I came to be, with flaming hair, the family cut me off from any kind of emotional connections I could make.
"Naw, I understand," I emphasized.
I left Vito standing back at the table as I rushed out of the restaurant to catch up with the rest of the group.
I understood perfect. I wasn't family. I would never be family. I was the bastard. The one with bright red hair. The one who couldn't uphold the honor of the famiglia name. Nothing like the other perfect Picone children. I scoffed inside, thinking about how each one of us was completely fucked up. The Picone head may be dead, but times like this, it felt like he was more alive than ever.
