Page 113 of Single Malt Drama

Nicolina

I’d visitedthe estate where Marco’s investiture ceremony would take place many times over the years. It was one of the few properties the ruling families shared. A designated neutral ground where violence was forbidden. The place was massive. Besides the formal hall where the families would welcome Marco into the fold, each capo had a private wing with smaller meeting rooms, offices, and bedrooms.

Normally, I loved visiting the beautiful grounds, but that day was anything but normal. Giancarlo and Marco were both over an hour late. I refused to assume the worst, but my fears were getting the better of me.

To make matters worse, my father’s anger bubbled closer to the surface with each tick of the clock. I did my best to stay quiet and still, to avoid his wrath—a trick I’d learned as a child.

“Where the hell is Giancarlo?” He shouted into his phone. The man hadn’t stopped pacing the private office since we’d arrived at the estate. “Find him!”

My dress’s stiff collar made the back of my neck itch, and my stilettos felt as if they’d shrank a size or two in my absence. Adding insult to injury, I hadn’t eaten anything since dinner the night before. My stomach felt like it was digesting itself.

“What do you mean he took the jet? Why am I only hearing about this now?” The veins in my father’s forehead bulged. “What the hell is he doing in Comiso?”

Giancarlo went to see Marco?I sat straighter.

Pietro turned and glared. “Do you know why your brother went to visit your husband yesterday?”

“Perhaps the Marchionni jet is out of service?” I hated how timid my voice came out. I wasn’t a scared child anymore, but I had a role to play. A role that would keep people I loved alive.

He scowled. “You will call him.”

Oh shit. He’s not going to like this. I swallowed hard. “I would be happy to, but Giancarlo’s men destroyed mine and Marco’s phones.”

Pietro wiggled the receiver in his hand at me as if I were too stupid to realize there were other telephones in the building.

“I only know Marco’s cell number.”

He strode across the room, grabbed my arm, and jerked me to my feet. “You’re lying to me.”

Instinctively, I put my chin on my chest, curled my shoulders forward, and wrapped my free arm around my middle.

He raised his hand as if to strike, but stopped when footsteps echoed on the marble floors.

“You will take your hands off my wife!” Marco strode into the office.

Pietro shoved me back into the chair and turned toward him. “Who are you to speak to me in that tone?”

Marco pushed into my father’s personal space. “If you ever touch her again, I’ll cut your fucking hand off.”

I held my breath, praying one or the other of them would back down. There were armed guards within earshot, and unless protocol had drastically changed, Marco had been searched for weapons before he was allowed to enter the estate. We were defenseless.

Pietro motioned to Giancarlo, who’d remained near the doorway during the exchange. “Get him out of here.”

My brother folded his arms and leveled a glare at our father. “I agree with Marchionni on this one—you have no right manhandling Nico.”

“You walk in here an hour late and speak to me like I’m a dog?” He took a step in my brother’s direction.

I stood and insinuated myself between Marco, Giancarlo, and my father. “Papá, please. It was a misunderstanding. Why don’t you join the other capos? It’s past time for the ceremony to start.”

“Nic, I need you to stay out of this.” Marco nodded to the far side of the room near my brother.

I stared, unable to make sense of his cold expression. Sure, I’d asked Giancarlo to warn him not to be overly affectionate, but he hadn’t as much as spared me a glance.

Marco met my gaze and the corner of his mouth lifted. It was a quick gesture. Had I not been staring I would have missed it.

Wobbling on the ridiculous shoes, I crossed the room. The closer I came to my brother, the faster my heart raced. From a distance, he’d seemed irritated, but up close, I could all but feel the anger radiating off him. However, his puffy red eyes troubled me more than his thinly veiled rage.

Has he been crying? I whispered, “Are you okay?”

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