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The moment the words leave Earl’s mouth, I wince by instinct, ready to see Connor’s fist flying toward my brother’s face. But that doesn’t happen; my eyes dart to Connor’s hands, but he hasn’t even balled them into fists.
"Maybe I won’t. Or maybe I will," Connor replies, not a trace of emotion in his voice. Even though Earl is acting like a complete bastard, Connor doesn’t even seem to be registering it. I’ve never seen anyone so in control of his emotions like this; it’s almost inhuman. "Either way, Earl, I’ll do my best to serve your family."
"Your best," Earl scoffs, placing one finger in Connor’s chest. "This family doesn’t need your best. What this family needs is someone with a strong pulse, someone capable of making the family even more powerful, someone --"
"Someone like you?" Connor asks him, and Earl just falls silent, his eyes narrowing into two evil slits.
"What the fuck is that supposed to mean? D’ya think I can’t handle this family? D’ya think I can’t run the company?" Earl continues, specks of spit jumping out from his mouth and onto Connor’s shirt.
"I’m not saying anything, Earl. You’re drunk, and this has been a long day," Connor continues, still keeping in control of the situation, almost as if Earl was a five-year-old throwing a tantrum. "Why don’t we call it a day? If you still want to talk about it, we can talk tomorrow."
"Fuck you, man! I don’t need to talk it out like a fuckin’ pussy! That’s what… That’s what pussies do." As he speaks, Earl’s cheeks flush, and now he’s the one who has balled his hands into fists. Connor’s patient and calm demeanor is affecting him, and not in the best way. But it’s not like Connor could do any differently; Earl strode in looking for an argument, and I guess he won’t let go until he has what he wants.
"No, Earl. Real men talk about whatever needs to be talked about," Connor replies, his tone becoming ice-cold. Even Earl seems surprised by it, and he takes one step back, almost as if he expects Connor to punch him straight in the face.
"What the hell are you doing, Earl?" my father hisses, walking between both Earl and Connor. "Are you out of your mind? This is a funeral, not a goddamn bar! And Connor just got here, why are you in his face like this?"
"It’s not a problem," Connor tries to say, but my father just waves Earl away, a vein in his temple throbbing hard.
"I’m sorry, Connor. I don’t want to cheapen what you’re going through, but losing Edward took a toll on all of us," my father continues to say, and Connor just nods respectfully, acting as if nothing happened.
For a moment, I just keep my eyes focused on Connor, taking in the serenity in his face. There are dozens, if not hundreds, of people inside the ceremony room of our mansion, and this situation could've turned into quite the scene… But Connor kept it together, and even though no one would’ve blamed him if he KO’d my brother right away.
Also, just between you and I … seeing Connor verbally dominate my brother kinda made me wet.
Connor
I’ve always loved New York. There’s a certain flamboyance to the city, like a tapestry made of strings from different fabrics. There’s also a certain rush that seems to permeate everything and everyone, and that just adds to that energetic boldness of the city that never sleeps.
Back when I started working in Rome, as a newly anointed member of the Order, I always relished my time off (which, really, didn’t happen that much). I’d grab the first plane out of Italy and spend the whole flight in a state of semi-anxiety, waiting to see the tall buildings of New York City rising in the distance.
After months in Europe, New York was like a warm drink on the coldest of the nights. But now, the city seems grey and desolate. Its bold character now seems harsh and indifferent, and I can’t help but feel more lonely than ever.
Pull yourself together, I think to myself as I look out the window of my bedroom in the Ritz, hundreds of people going about their lives in the street below. Even though I was more than ready to start working for the Donovans, Jonathan forbade me of doing so.
"No way, Connor," he told me sternly. "Take some time for yourself. It’s an order." And so, even though I protested against it, he booked me one of the most expensive rooms in the Ritz.
I’ve been here for a week now and, to be honest, all this time off is driving me crazy. After handling all the legal paperwork surrounding my father’s death, I now have nothing better to do than wander through the streets of New York aimlessly. Still, even though it doesn’t calm my restless mind, that’s what I’ve been doing every single day: I’ve been walking and walking, the gears inside my head turning endlessly.
Working as the Donovan’s adviser is a big responsibility, and not to mention, following in my father’s shoes. They are big shoes to fill, indeed. And, of course, it doesn’t help that I already see trouble brewing on the horizon. Hurricane Earl is picking up speed and, sooner or later, that storm will be threatening the Donovans.
It’s only natural that Jonathan’s looking to groom his heir, but I can’t help to wonder if he didn’t bet on the wrong horse. Sure, Earl might be bold and smart, but he also seems completely unhinged… And being unhinged isn’t exactly a good trait to possess when you have a multi-billion dollar fortune to manage.
Whenever I talked to my father on the phone, he always sounded concerned with the way Earl had turned out, but only now I seem to grasp how worrying that is. It isn’t going to be easy to steer someone like him, especially when his own father seems blind to what’s happening.
On the other hand, my father showed some optimism about Clarise. Even though she wasn’t exactly a paragon of virtue in college, she somehow managed to graduate from Wharton with flying colors, and she was showing some interest in the business before my father passed away. Even though I can only guess at what my father was planning,
I think he was trying to balance Earl with Clarise, if not replacing Earl altogether with his younger sister.
Of course, whenever I start thinking of Clarise my mind drifts off. I can’t stop thinking about the way she looked at the funeral. She seemed to glow, almost as if her own soul was on fire.
A few years ago, she was nothing more than a skinny teenager with an easy laugh, and now… Now she’s the kind of woman that makes heads turn whenever she enters a room. And, more than being beautiful, she’s also smart and ambitious. Which sounds good, but also puts her on a collision course with her own brother. And I’m right in the middle of what looks like an inevitable civil war between siblings.
Still, even though it might seem like an impossible task, I’m determined to do my best. After all, my father spent almost half of his life trying to help the Donovans - the least I can do is do my best to live up to his legacy.
Pacing around the room, my gaze wanders over and over again to my cellphone, sitting on the desk in front of the bed. It’s time, I think to myself, to call Jonathan. I’ve had some time off, just like he proposed (or, rather, ordered), and I’m already aching to get down to business. After all, sitting here in this room by myself is just making my mind race in circles around itself. I need to do something - anything.
I already have the cell phone in my hand when the phone on my bedstand starts to ring. I make my way toward it and, picking it up, press it against my ear. "Yes?" I ask whoever’s on the other side, and a polite female voice greets me, happily chirping my name.
