Page 16 of Vengeful Vows

A tall, broad man with sharp eyes stands outside the door. “Evening, Nico.”

“Giorgio.” For as long as I remember, he’s been a loyal soldier of the family, and he serves as Roberto’s bodyguard.

Immediately he steps aside to allow me into the room.

Though the evening is warm, a fire crackles in the hearth, and then Roberto turns toward me.

We exchange hugs and pats on the back. Shockingly he is thinner, frailer than he was earlier in the week. Though he valiantly pretends to be doing well, his lung cancer is advancing.

My uncle has chosen me to be his next consigliere, an honor I’m not sure I deserve. When he informed me of his decision, I protested that he should select someone wiser and certainly someone with far more experience than I have.

Though I’ve done well with regard to my personal finances, that’s been easy compared to understanding the complex dynamics of Don Raffaele’s vast business networks and the relationships with other families in Texas and neighboring states.

Stubbornly, however, he will not be dissuaded.

Until his death ended his suffering, my father filled a valuable role in the organization. As such, I grew up in the business.

Now it seems the Russos up north have been encroaching on some of our territory, preying on one of our weaknesses. Perhaps they’ve been fed information by someone inside our organization.

Because he is no longer sure who is trustworthy, Don Raffaele is resolved that Roberto will only be succeeded by a member ofla famiglia.As the lone son of his only sibling, I am his logical—perhaps only—choice.

But no one expected I would assume the position for another five to ten years, giving me plenty of time to garner the knowledge I need. After all, Roberto is not an old man. But early on, he sustained lung damage from a gunshot wound during an attempt on the don’s life, which has helped his illness to extract a swift and shocking toll.

As I step back, I politely inquire about his health.

“As well as can be expected.”

I notice a cane in the corner of the room, but I know better than to suggest he use it. “Is there anything you need?”

His gaze is as perceptive as it is keen. “I only have one foot in the grave.”

As he intends, I smile. We’ve seen each other multiple times a week since he took me under his wing, and his support after the loss of my parents was invaluable. We are more than mentor and mentee. We’ve become fast friends, and I often seek his counsel. When he is gone, I will be devastated, and he knows it.

“The don and Matteo will be joining us.”

Intrigued, I lift a shoulder. “Oh?” Along with Roberto, I often visit my uncle at his home, and I join the family for dinner on Sunday nights.

He’s saved from a reply by their arrival.

Two soldiers accompany them, and they both assume positions at the back of the room.

After greetings are exchanged, Don Raffaele takes a seat, and we each follow suit. In his usual manner, he gets straight to the point. Instead of looking at Roberto, he focuses his intense, heavy gaze on me.

“How are things progressing with the Calabrese girl?”

“Isabella,” I correct, signaling her importance to me. Once again, the weight of the past closes in around me. The boss is aware that revenge burns hot in my soul. At times, it’s the only fuel I have.

On the rainy day when I tossed the first clods of dirt on top of my father’s coffin, my mother crumpled to her knees, destroyed by grief. The next handful came from Don Raffaele, and the splattering noise it made still haunts me. As I crouched next to my mother, the don nodded at me, silently sanctioning my plan to extract revenge on the Calabreses.

The boss and his brother had been as close as two siblings could be, and he’d been unable to do anything but watch as my father succumbed to a broken heart after Lucia’s death.

For all of us, she was an angel. Beautiful, kind, generous, with a quick laugh. A little impetuous as well, but able to charm anyone. Her life was in front of her, full of promise and hope.

Alessandro needed to pay for the lives he stole from us.

Don Raffaele’s blessing has kept me sane, given me purpose. And it’s cunningly smart. My marriage to Isabella Calabrese makes sense for the family. After all, I will be a better adviser, more settled, when I have a wife and children of my own.

“It changes a man,” he’d told me.

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