This is a side of Antonio that I’ve never seen, but clearly, his emotions are driving him in the aftermath of my father’s funeral earlier today.
“I will do what’s best?—”
Antonio slams his hand onto the desk between us, spittle flying from his lips when he bellows, “It should have beenyou.”
A beat passes as I lazily hold his gaze, guilt rising from the depths of my stomach at the truth in his words. Because he’s right. Aurelia went along with our father instead of me.
Itshouldhave been me.
But even so, I won’t abide being spoken to with such disrespect.
Achingly slow, I rise to my full height, towering over my uncle as I round the desk. His eyes widen as my lip twitches on one side before I snake out my left hand to grasp the hair on the back of his neck. He opens his mouth to protest or plead—I’m unsure and uncaring as to which—right as I slam his face down onto the desk at my side.
He groans when I let go abruptly, dusting my palms together as my overwrought uncle slides to the wooden floor at my feet. He cradles his face in his hands when I stride over to the office door, jerking it open to bark, “Emiliano,veni ca.”
My childhood best friend and bodyguard rounds the corner at the end of the hall, jamming the remains of a chocolate cupcake into his mouth as he marches closer. I shake my head as he reaches me, but he just shrugs it off.
“You wouldn’t be such a fat fuck if you’d stop inhaling that shit.”
He flips me the bird and enters my office, closing the door behind him as he waits expectantly for orders.
“I need you to have someone accompany my uncle to his suite.” Emiliano glances around me, his eyebrow quirking as I shrug. “He’s feeling…a little out of sorts.”
Emiliano blinks a handful of times before turning to the nearest soldiers while I shift my gaze to my bleeding consigliere. “Take the rest of the day,Zio.”
My uncle splays his palm on my desk, pushing himself to a shaky stand before straightening his vest and pushing his grey hair back off his florid face. His chest is rising and falling rapidly when he nods slowly. “Si, Rafael.Ci vediamo domani.”
I incline my head once in acknowledgment. “I don’t want to have this conversation again,capisti?”
Antonio swallows roughly. His jaw tics as he regards me with cold eyes before he manages to murmur a low assent.
Emiliano quickly escorts my hunched uncle to the two waitingSoldatioutside my door before closing it as I scrub my palms up and down my face, weary to the depths of my soul.
“He’s gone.”
Emiliano closes the door behind him, and I nod my thanks as I drop my hands down onto my lap, expelling a heavy sigh. “But he’s not wrong,Fratello. We need to act. We need to get Aurelia back. Papa must be turning in his damn grave at the thought of hisPrincipessain the hands of Domenico fucking Conti.”
“You don’t know for sure it was Domenico?—”
“This has that smug bastard written all over it,Fratello. You know it. I know it.Zioknows it. And we’ll see it confirmed today, hmm?”
My jaw clenches tightly, remembering the last time I’d seen Domenico Conti at the bi-annual Congress.
The Congress takes place on neutral ground in carefully chosen residences once every two years so the five ruling families of Cosa Nostra can set boundaries, resolve disputes,and arrange marriages. This assures no territories are breached unknowingly. Or attacked wrongfully.
Every Congress is pretty standard, even though, as the second in line up until Alessio’s death, I’ve yet to sit in on a full briefing.
It’s an easy way to keep the peace between the five ruling families.
Caruso. DeMarco. Salvatore. Medici.
And Conti.
Francesco Conti is as old as fuck, and as stubborn as a motherfucking mule, but I don’t see his hand in any of this.
Clearly, his heir, Domenico, is getting too big for his boots since we last exchanged words.
Stellina.
