Page 117 of Savage Union
"My father's methods were different," I acknowledge. "But equally effective."
"Your father understood balance," Don Federico says, the observation carrying no judgment. "The delicate equilibrium between strength and restraint."
"Times have changed," I reply. "The old equilibrium no longer serves."
He nods slowly. "Perhaps. Or perhaps we old men cling too tightly to the ways that kept us alive." He taps his cane thoughtfully against the floor. "I knew your grandfather, you know. Francesco was a visionary—saw the need for theCommission when the rest of us were still shooting each other in the streets."
I remain silent, respecting the reminiscence of a man who has witnessed the evolution of our world from bloody chaos to structured enterprise.
"He also married for alliance," Don Federico continues. "Though in time, it became more. Much more."
"My circumstances are different."
"Are they?" His gaze is too perceptive, too knowing. "A marriage rushed forward to solidify position. A bride with... complicated connections."
My jaw tightens. "You're well-informed."
"I may be old, Vittore, but my ears still work." He smiles faintly. "The Irish have never kept their ambitions quiet, and Costello's boy lacks his father's subtlety."
"The situation is under control," I state flatly.
"I'm sure it is." He stares up at the stained glass, colored light playing across his weathered features. "But control is a curious thing, isn't it? The tighter we grasp, the more slips through our fingers."
I recognize the attempt at wisdom, but have little patience for it today. "With respect, Don Federico?—"
"You misunderstand me," he interrupts gently. "I'm not criticizing your methods. Each Don must find his own way to lead." He shifts slightly, age-spotted hands resting on his cane. "I'm merely observing that some things cannot be controlled, only guided. Like rivers."
"I prefer certainty."
"As did I, at your age." His chuckle holds no mockery, only the perspective of decades. "Yet the older I grow, the more I realize how little is certain in this life."
I remain silent, unwilling to engage in philosophical debate on today of all days.
"Your bride," he says, changing tack. "Tomasso's daughter. I met her once, years ago at a family function. Spirited, if I recall correctly."
"That's one word for it," I acknowledge, a reluctant smile tugging at my lips despite my mood.
Don Federico's eyes catch the expression, his own crinkling with unexpected warmth. "Ah, so it's like that."
"Like what?"
"She's gotten under your skin." It's not a question. "Rare, for a man like you."
I consider denial, then opt for truth with this man who has seen three generations of my family. "She's... not what I expected."
"They never are, the ones who matter." He nods sagely. "My Maria—God rest her soul—refused my proposal four times before accepting. Said she wouldn't marry a man who thought of her as a transaction."
Despite myself, I'm curious. "What changed her mind?"
"I did." His smile turns wistful. "Or rather, I allowed her to see what I kept hidden from everyone else. The man beneath the Don."
The parallels to my situation with Caterina are uncomfortably precise. "And that was enough?"
"Not at first." He laughs softly. "But it was a beginning. The rest took time, patience, and more vulnerability than I thought myself capable of."
"Vulnerability is a luxury I can't afford," I say automatically. "Especially now."
"So I told myself, for many years." He regards me with something approaching compassion. "Until I realized that without it, I would win every battle but lose the war."
