"And you don’t wanna be Capo dei Capi?” I interrupted, ignoring how Milan scowled at the sound of my voice.
“No.” He smiled a little sadly. “I didn’t want any of this at all. It’s not mine to want or lead, just something I was forced to take.”
Milan leaned forward on his knees. “Then give the Outfit to me.”
Francesco recoiled a little, nudging himself deeper into the couch as if my husband’s suggestion made him want to hide. “What?”
“Give it to me, resign as Capo dei Capi, and I will provide you with a position and excessive pay.”
Milan was a good negotiator. He drove business well, and he seemed to use Francesco’s softer emotions against him even though he couldn’t feel them himself. That meant he knew how to manipulate.
My stomach felt wobbly.
Who actually was Milan Lucca, and what was he capable of?
In Francesco’s shock, his eyes had strayed from Milan and fallen straight onto my drawing.
My drawing of Adriano and the intensity ofhimin his eyes.
It was rare,sorare, to see a man cry; not even little boys were supposed to cry in this society, so when a single tear slid down Francesco’s cheek, I knew that it was real and true and so powerful that he couldn’t keep it inside. He wanted to gohome, and that was something he couldn’t get in Chicago.
I knew what that felt like.
He nodded, only once, but then over and over, almost uncontrollably. “Okay. Yes,yes.Take it. Please take it.”
“Adriano and I have also had a discussion.” My head shot up to find my husband as he continued, “You are permitted to move to New York as you once expressed your desire to do so.”
Francescobreathed. He breathed like he’d been waiting for it his whole life, like someone had handed him the keys to freedom and told him he was finally welcome somewhere.
Milan began to talk to Adriano about contracts and legalities, but Francesco was only focused on the drawing that I clutched tightly in my fingers. He cleared his throat but kept his voice low and private between us. “You drew Adrian.”
“I drew Adrian, but I also drew you.” I smiled.
He frowned.
I pointed to the sketched eyes of theFamiglia’s Consigliere. “You’re here.” Then I slid the pen down to the tiny heart I’d drawn on Adriano’s chest. “And here.”
His lungs sucked in hard, and his own heart beat so furiously that I could see his shirt jumping. “That’s not true?—"
“It is, and that’s okay.” I tucked my fingers around his wrist in his lap, squeezing once.
It was a crime to be gay in theCosa Nostra. They knew that as well as I did, and just because we didn’t like the discrimination didn’t mean it was easy to change, especially if the man in charge had no idea.
I slipped the drawing into his shirt’s top pocket, tapping it like that would seal it there. “Don’t give up, because I won’t.”
Women weren’t the only people who needed freedom from theFamiglia’s rules.
“Where are you going?”Milan snapped over his laptop the moment I got up out of my seat on the jet.
My eyes rolled harshly. “To where you’re not.”
I strolled down the aisle to Adriano at the front of the plane. He had distanced himself from us, which was unusual; even Milan had seemed confused, but I saw why the second he came into view, and my steps slowed as I stared at him.
Tears streaked his soft face, his eyes closed as if trying to keep them in.
“Adriano,” I whispered, taking a seat beside him and looping my fingers into his. He didn’t protest as I rested my head on his shoulder. I wondered if he needed to be touched and held.
His tears turned into cries the minute he squeezed my hand back, and I hated that he kept them quiet, that he felt like his pain had to be muted. He nuzzled his nose into my hair, letting his tears fall there instead of nowhere.
