Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 78811 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78811 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
“Bastian.” I shake my head.
He stops grudgingly. I have no doubt he’d risk his life to take our uncle out. That’s how deep his hate for Sonny goes.
I sip my drink and count to ten. I want to kill him as much as Bastian, but one of us needs to remain levelheaded.
“Since you’re here, you save me a trip, Uncle,” I say.
“Or aren’t you enemies any longer?” Sonny continues. “Now that you’ve taken a Russo for a wife?” he asks, carrying on like I haven’t spoken. “And what about you, Bastian. Does it bother you that he marries the whore? Not you?”
“You’re a fucking bastard, you know that?” Bastian asks.
Sonny looks at me again. “Although I can guess the ulterior motive.”
“My motivations aren’t your concern. What is my concern is your loyalty to the family.”
“Well, actually, two things.” Sonny holds up two fingers as if I haven’t spoken, and I imagine how he would scream if I bent them backward, breaking them slowly. “One, your motivations are my concern as they impact me in every aspect. And two, my loyalties have always and will always lie with the Caballero family. My family. If Angelo had lived—”
“Yes, if Angelo had lived, he’d be the one you’d be answering to now. Why is that? Why did Grandfather set you aside, Uncle?”
At this, he bristles, his mouth turning down at its customary angle. This is the true face of my uncle. I don’t miss the fact that it’s not loss or sadness at the fact that his son is dead that he’s expressing. It’s hate.
“What’s the matter, Uncle? Don’t you miss your son?” Bastian asks.
Sonny looks like he’ll lunge at Bastian.
Bastian smiles wide, liking getting under Sonny’s skin. I can’t help my smile, either.
“I had an interesting conversation with a man named Bob Miller the other night.” I watch Sonny as I say it.
He looks genuinely confused now. “Bob Miller?”
“You may know him in our circles as The Reaper.”
Hardness sets back in as he closes off his expression. “The Reaper? I can’t say I do.”
“No?” Bastian asks.
“Well, that’s interesting because, according to recently deceased Bob, you and he had struck a deal,” I remind him.
He shifts in his seat and checks his watch.
“Tell me something, what would our cousins do if they knew you had a hand in events that irrevocably changed the future of the family? That put us at great risk and weakened us?”
“Us,” he says with distaste, swallowing the last of his drink and standing. “You…” He gestures to us both. “You and I aren’t us. You two are usurpers. Pretenders to the throne.”
Bastian laughs outright at that. “Dramatic much?”
“A throne that does not want you.” I study him as he calls for a soldier just as I hear my mother and Francesca come out of the kitchen. “And things are changing,” he adds ominously.
“We made drinks and sandwiches. I hope you’re all hungry,” my mother says, oblivious to the tension among us.
“Uncle Sonny has to go, Mom,” Bastian says, picking up a sandwich and biting into it. He is always hungry. “Maybe you can pack one up for him to take on his drive home. It is such a long way.”
“You have to go?” Mom looks crestfallen. “You’ll miss Hannah and Roland. I’m sure they’ll be back soon.”
Sonny looks at her then at me. He grins before turning to her again. “I’m sorry, Nora. Something came up. I’ll see you soon, though. Remember,” he says, wrapping a hand around her arm in a way I don’t like and leaning in to kiss her cheek. “You owe me a visit at my house. I’ll send a car and surprise you.”
When he backs away, she looks at him in a strange way, like for a moment, she’s herself and remembers the past. How Sonny turned his back on her just like her father did. But then it’s gone, and she nods.
“I love surprises,” she says, although a little more sadly.
As I stand, I make a note to tell her she’s not to go anywhere without my permission. “I’ll walk you out.” I accompany my uncle to the front doors, where about half a dozen of his men stand around with my own. I see the one Jarno left in charge. When he sees me, he drops his cigarette to the ground, stubs it out, and stands at attention.
“Always a pleasure, nephew,” my uncle says. I assume he’s feeling his spine stronger for the soldiers he’s surrounded with and their camaraderie with my own.
“Always.” We don’t shake hands as he climbs into his car, and they begin their procession toward the gate. But just before I turn to leave, the car my uncle is in stops, and he opens his window.
“I can leave soldiers, Amadeo, if you have need. You’re a little light here, I noticed.”