Page 127 of Unlock My Heart

This is news to me, but I keep my face neutral.

“Watch your back during this meeting, alright?”

I nod, making my way down the hall and entering Vitto’s office. Flipping on the light, the hospital setup’s long been cleared out, his office returning to its former glory. Walking behind the mahogany desk and sitting, it doesn’t feel as big and imposing as it did when I was younger.

My mind is in a tailspin.

Mr. Ivy League killed Vitto Calvani.

Turns out my little brother has bigger balls than I ever gave him credit for. Bigger than mine, because that’s what I should’ve fucking done in the first place.

My head falls into my hands. It wasn’t just that night that I fucked up, and God knows Sienna and I have paid for it.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Fabien

The present

There’s a knock, and I straighten as Angelo enters, and I rise. “Little brother.”

“Big brother.”

“I’ll be in the basement.” Nic leaves us, closing the door.

Angelo strolls across the room like he owns the place, and I’m already annoyed, which isn’t a good sign. He sits, adjusting his perfectly straight tie. “You’re selling the house?”

There’s a for sale sign in the front yard, and he undoubtedly noticed. In her will, Mama left me this property and Angelo the weekend house. Why? Fuck if I know. Weekend houses are for relaxing, and my brother wouldn’t know the first thing about that. And this house, I’d just as soon burn it to the ground than bring Sienna here. “This is Vitto Calvani’s palace, not mine.”

Angelo nods in understanding, crossing his leg at the ankle. “I’m ready to transfer power to you immediately.”

Taken off guard by his blunt offer, my fingers strum the desk. “What’s the catch?”

“I’ll be sworn in next week as mayor, and with that position comes certain powers. I could run this city in alignment with Calvani family interests. Police chief. Public works department heads. Codes. Meter readers. Top to bottom friends of the family.”

“Still waiting on the catch.” I lean back in Vitto’s chair.

“I will scratch your back if you scratch mine, but only if you swear to keep family business out of the public eye,” Angelo warns.

A bitter laugh nearly chokes me. “I can assure you, that lesson was learned the hard way. But I swear it. What else?”

“I don’t want to be looking over my shoulder, or over Remi’s shoulder, for the rest of our lives. New Orleans is our city, and we’re not going anywhere,” he warns.

My arms crossed, I inform him, “My wife and I sure as shit aren’t going anywhere.”

“Then we swear a truce with a blood oath.” Angelo reaches into his pocket, and my hand falls to the butt of my gun holstered inside my jacket. But he produces the family’s ceremonial knife.

“With the understanding that if you touch Sienna again, the only blood shed will be yours and your girl’s.” The compromise sits like a lead ball in my stomach. I vowed to place Sienna first, but am I doing that by letting my brother off the hook?

“Understood. Now you need to understand this.” Angelo leans forward. “Threaten my future wife again, and the only blood shed will be Sienna’s. Not yours, because I’ll keep you alive to make you watch.”

“When did you grow a spine?” I taunt, ignoring the overwhelming urge to hop over the desk and bash my brother’s skull. “And congratulations to you on your engagement; condolences to Remi. Interestingly enough, my wife mentioned knowing your fiancée.” I fish, seeing what, if anything, he knows about their connection.

“Small world,” he says without inflection. “So, do we have a truce?”

“We have a truce.”

Angleo pricks the palm of his hand, drawing a bead of blood. Sliding the blade across the desk, I grab it and do the same with my hand.