I mimicked the action, dialing a cleanup crew. A gust of wind cut through the space. I turned to face it, defying nature to make me feel weak.
Pressing the phone to my ear, I gave short, precise instructions.
Vinny, the capo who oversaw the cleanup crew, would no doubt call me later in the morning, asking for details. The fewer I gave now, the better. Right before I hung up, another call beeped in my ear.
I frowned at the name on the screen but answered. “What is it?”
“Dominico,” Arabella gasped. “Where are you?”
“Out for a run.” Dread knotted in my gut. “What is it?”
“Francesco”—hiccup—“Godfather woke up, was shouting in his phone, and had a”—hiccup—“heart attack.”
Another gust of wind sent the blood draining from my face. It was happening. The day I always knew would come was here. It was just a hot summer Wednesday. Nothing special, no supernatural sign to mark the occasion. Beyond me, Boston was carrying on with her morning routine.
But fate was handing me the throne.
And the only thought that pulsed in my mind was that I wasn’t ready.
“The EMTs are here,” Arabella continued. “But my godfather isn’t responsive!”
I pursed my lips. “I’ll be there in a half hour—”
“No, come to the hospital,” she corrected, voice gathering a sudden strength. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to cut you off, Dominico, but I…don’t know what else to do.”
The delicate child. It had to be hell for her. My grandfather was the only father-figure she had. To wake up to that chaos in the big house…fuck. She probably felt all alone. I could picture it. My grandmother screaming. The staff scrambling to summon help. And little Arabella, standing to the side, not able to jump in and help.
But she did well. She’d called me. That showed her mind was already calculating. Maybe she had it in her to make a good mob wife—to anyone but me.
If I’m king, she doesn’t have to marry anyone until she decides she’s ready.
One bright spot in this bleak situation. I would protect her—I would have to protect them all.
Chapter 19 – Rae
Shutting off the vacuum for a moment, I gave Arabella a small wave. She was too busy tucking a dark glass tincture bottle in her Gucci bag and nearly tripped on the cord.
“Watch it,” I gasped, reaching out to steady her.
She closed the bag and gave me a worried look before schooling her face into one of anguish.
Almost as if she’d practiced it.
“Thanks,” she sighed. “I don’t know where my head is at today.”
“It’s been a lot,” I agreed, rubbing her shoulders before I remembered that the natural gesture of comfort wasn’t considered proper. “How’s your godfather feeling?”
“He’s getting better.” Her smile wasn’t convincing. “But he’s not out of the woods yet.”
“Let me know if there is anything I can do,” I offered.
And meant it.
“Thanks,” she repeated mechanically and continued down the stairs. Something was on her mind. She seemed distracted.
I shrugged it off and turned back to my work.
The vacuum hummed along the cracks and crevices. The edge of the step bit my knee, and my arm ached from balancing the body of the machine while my arm worked the nozzle.
