Page 3 of Of Desire And Deception

The man nodded.

“Then you know why you’re here.”

Another nod.

“Good.” I stood, tossing the water bottle in the trash that I would burn later. I didn’t like monologuing. It was tiresome to explain my role in the Neretti organization to those who were too naïve to know death when they looked me in the face. “I’ll make this simple because I want to get some sleep before I have to be somewhere later today. I’m going to ask you questions. If you answer them all, your death will come quickly. If you refuse, your last hours on this earth will make you beg for the reaper to take you to hell.”

The man’s black jeans darkened as he pissed himself, and I turned my nose up at his cowardice. I used shears to remove his sweatshirt and the white t-shirt underneath, then flicked my knife open.

“Who do you work for?” I started with a simple question.

He pressed his lips together in some misguided attempt at loyalty, and I shook my head, then dragged my blade down the underside of his arm. When I reached his armpit, then ribs, he was screaming and crying like a baby.

He would break easily.

Five down.

I added the tally to a leather-bound notebook in my condo and returned it to the shelf with other tomes. There was no indication of what was inside the volume, just endless pages of vertical and diagonal markings.

Autumn sunlight poured in the windows, warming my condo's white walls and wood accents. Glancing at the clock, I realized I would be late if I didn’t finish dressing. I despised the suits my late father required of all those in the Neretti organization, but my older brother Dante was the Don now, and it wasn’t a chore to put on a black suit for a family function.

I styled my freshly washed hair and slipped my dress shoes on, then fashioned the tie hanging around my neck into a knot. It was oddly lonely in my home when my thoughts went silent after a night of murder and mayhem. I compensated by wiping the sterile white surfaces in my bathroom with sanitizing wipes before grabbing my phone, wallet, and keys and taking the elevator to the parking garage.

I hit the button on my key fob, and my black Genesis SUV came to life. I slid into the driver’s seat and breathed in the smell of clean leather, taking a moment to center myself before speeding across town to the house where I grew up.

As I pulled around the ostentatious fountain, other cars already lined the circular drive. The sprawling brick house held so many memories, most of which I worked to forget. I could hear the laughter coming from inside as soon as I stepped out of my vehicle, and the guards at the front door nodded before stepping aside to let me enter.

I found my brothers and their wives in the family room, laughing and joking with each other. My sister-in-law, Olesya, was the first to spot me.

“Cosimo!” She spread her arms wide in welcome, and I braced myself for all the affection she and my sisters-in-law Mia and Riona showered me with. My brothers were more subdued in their greetings, offering quick hugs and slapping me on the back. I took it all in stride, though the touch was overstimulating, making my skin crawl.

My brothers wore suits similar to mine. There was no denying our familial connection with our dark hair and dark eyes. Their wives looked like they’d coordinated outfits in maroon dresses of varying styles. I wouldn’t put it past them to have shopped together for the dinner. While Olesya’s fair features and honey-blonde hair and Mia’s deep brunette hair and Italian features made sense with the clothing choice, I thought Riona’s red hair clashed with the darker maroon. I couldn’t say that out loud, though.

“I see you’re still driving that soccer dad car,” my twin Niccolò teased.

I hit him on his good shoulder—the one that hadn’t taken a bullet four months ago—and he laughed as he rubbed it. “It’s practical. Something you should consider since you’re making little carbon copies.”

His wife Mia giggled and rubbed her burgeoning belly, her brown eyes shining. She and the baby were the sole reason for the gathering. After all the violence, war, and death in the past year, Niccolò was taking her to stay in Calabria until she decided it was time to come home. My chest tightened at the thought that they may never return after tasting a peaceful life without mafia connections.

Granted, my grandfather lived there and was head of the Vero family and the Don of his organization. But his family wasn’t embroiled in war, and things had been relatively static for years.

“We’ll figure out a new car when we need it,” Niccolò said, waving my comment off. “Why don’t we move to the dining room and stuff ourselves until we have to be rolled home?”

Dante waved our youngest brother Romeo ahead to walk with his wife, Riona, hanging back to speak to me. “Did you get anything?”

“Not much,” I answered, fingers itching to play with my knife. It was a nervous habit, but if I gave in, it set everybody else on edge, so I resisted the urge. “He wasn’t high enough in the organization to know anything more than what we’d already discovered. I need to get one of the former capos.”

“Keep working on it.” His palm landed briefly on my shoulder before he dropped it back to his side, and we entered the dining room, where the large table was covered with a plethora of food prepared by the wives and Dante’s housekeeper, Martina.

I took my seat toward the end of the table, the only single family member remaining. My sisters were married, too—Coletta to Bosco, a capo in New York. My younger sister Bianca married Colin, the former heir to Chicago's Italian mob, and they lived in Miami with my niece Ilaria. I couldn’t blame them for avoiding Chicago during the unrest.

The conversation quickly turned to matters of marriage and children; the women doting on Mia and forcing her to eat until she declared she couldn’t consume another bite—strange tradition to force-feed expectant mothers. I observed the others, watching their mannerisms and how they smiled and frowned at the correct times.

They showed more expression in one meal than I had in a month, reminding me yet again how different I was from other people. Sure, I felt emotions. They were just muted, like a bullet fired from a silenced gun. It took a lot to make me feel much more than anger these days.

The others were used to my antisocial ways and mostly left me alone unless they had a specific comment or question. I was content to watch, eating my food and sipping my wine as they celebrated to cover their sorrow at Niccolò’s impending departure.

Hours later when the food was gone, dessert had been devoured, and I’d shared a final drink with my brothers, we gathered outside the house in the waning evening light to say our goodbyes. The women cried as they hugged Mia and Niccolò, getting in final belly rubs and making them promise to have frequent video chats. My brothers kissed Mia on the cheek and embraced Niccolò.

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