Page 54 of The Sound in Silence

Reread my message. You didn’t have a choice.

Chuckling, I close that message thread and open the one I have with my mother. She’s texted and called all day, leaving voicemails each time I denied the call. As much as this conversation is the last thing I wish to have, she’s easier to deal with over voice than arguing over text. So I tap her name and initiate the return-call.

“What?” I demand the moment she picks up the phone.

“That’s not a respectful way to speak with your mother. I never raised you like this.”

You barely raised me at all.

Rather than fight about the past, I lower my tone to replace annoyance with fake pleasure. “Apologies, Mother. There’s a lot going on. What can I help you with?”

“Did you not read my texts?” Her voice hikes higher, indicating she’s about to go off. “Or listen to themanyvoicemails I left you?”

Pinching the bridge of my nose, I stare at the time in the corner of my laptop’s screen, deciding this call will be limited to five minutes. Another four and half to go, and counting.

“I’d be here all afternoon when I have better things to do, so no, I did not.”

She sighs heavily as if I’ve demanded she sell all her designer shoes. “Or you can be a better businessman. And son.”

“Or I can hang up and continue my job by talking with the actual businessmen I’m presently dealing with. What. Do. You. Want, Mother?”

Another heavy sigh, only this time she answers, “Dredging up the last thing we talked about: it’s been days, Erico. Time for Ariella to make her debut to the organization. I’ll even assist Ariella plan it.”

“She needs nothing from you,” I shoot back instantly. “Besides, I’ve already mentioned to Father, she needs more time to settle.” I use the opening to not only change topics, but to solve a mystery. “Where did Father fly off to?” The Bratva’s jet never landed in New York, which means he went elsewhere with them.

She completely ignores my question about Father’s location. “This is why marrying that nobody was not wise, Erico. Even if she did link us to the Corsettis. Sometimes, the price isn’t worth the outcome. If your father—”

“Stop,” I cut her off, a burst of anger over her latest statement taking over. “My mother or not,nevertalk about my wife like that.”

“Erico,” she murmurs in her usual placating tone, “I simply meant, she’s not exactly who we had in mind for you.”

“Father wouldn’t have made me Boss if he didn’t trust in my abilities. The same goes for my wife’s. You know better than anyone how it is. Your entire status in theFamigliawas due to Father’s role. Youarehim. Ariella isme.Withme. On my side, so fucking deal with it.”

Another beat of silence and a low sigh. One I was likely not supposed to hear. When she talks again, her tone is more paced. “Like I was saying, you know the consequences of not hosting something for the organization soon. People need to meet your wife, Erico. She’s their newFamigliaqueen.” Words spit with a tinge of bitterness. “You know I’m right.”

My thumb and forefinger pinch my nose tighter because she fucking is. With our wedding being nearly a week ago, and planning a party would still take days, this shouldn’t be held off much longer, out of respect for theFamiglia’straditionalists. It’d be viewed as disrespectful not to host them soon.

But can I do this to Ariella already? Presumably the Corsettis warned her what being my wife would involve, but still…

“Pick a venue. Send me the date, time, and address. We’ll be there.”

“Uh, son, I think you missed the point.Ariellamust plan this.”

“You’ll get your party, Mother, but do you really think a bunch of old fuckers will honestly care, or even distinguish, who put it together? Until she’s more settled, I’m not forcing anything on her. This is my final word on the matter.”

“Fine,” Mother bites out. “Whatever, I’ll do it better anyway. Tell your wife we need to plan a girl’s outing eventually. I’d like to meet my daughter-in-law properly. I’m sure you don’t have a problem with that.” Her tone declaresI dare you to say otherwise.

“Whenever she’s ready. Goodbye, Mother.”

Click.

With a groan, I rub both hands down my face, willing my head to erase that conversation. Before my next task, I pour a drink from the bottle of alcohol I keep stocked in here, taking a heady sip.

Moving on to more important things, I dial Nico Corsetti’s number.

He answers on the first ring. “Corsetti.”

“Nico,” I greet, utilizing his first name instead.

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