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“Delilah, have you ever been to Italy?”
Jesus Christ. He’s laying on the charm tonight. I don’t think my brother has stopped talking since we sat down to eat, and almost all of it has been directed her way. He’s determined to win her over.
Or to drive me out of my skull, because he suspects there’s something between us and knows his flirting will get under my skin.
“Gosh, no,” she murmurs, shaking her head. “I’ve never been anywhere.”
“A gorgeous woman like you? You mean to tell me you couldn’t find a man willing to fly you around the world?”
“I never knew it was an option.” And then she does something I’ve never heard her do before. She laughs. A real, genuine laugh that sounds like bells ringing. It lights up her eyes until she sparkles like the crystal champagne flute she holds to her lips. Naturally, we had to celebrate my brother’s return—his idea, not mine.
“I could teach you a thing or two,” he promises with a grin that can only mean trouble.
She grins back. “I bet you could. It’s a shame I didn’t meet you a few years ago.”
“We’re both young,” he reminds her. If he feels me staring, he doesn’t show it. That’s always been one of his skills. Pretending not to notice the disapproval of his family.
Normally, I can overlook it. Not now. Not after everything he’s done. The fucking audacity.
“Vincent, why don’t you tell Delilah the story of why you ended up spending the past year in Italy?” I raise my champagne flute to him. “It’s quite a story.”
“I’m sure Delilah doesn’t want to hear about that. It’s boring.” His smile hardens while mine widens.
“You see,” I begin, turning toward the woman on my right, “Vincent took it upon himself to murder one of the high-ranking members of the Bernardi family. The Bernardi family who, by the way, we strongly suspect was behind the attack at the brothel earlier this week.” I pour myself more wine though I know I shouldn’t. I’m already on edge. Wine tends to have a calming effect on most people, but on me? It tends to ramp me up.
“The Bernardi family who, by the way, was behind no fewer than two attempts on our father’s life before that.” Vincent glares openly at me. “You always like to forget that part. Not to mention the fact that I was going to let the guy go if he hadn’t opened his smart mouth at the wrong time.”
I turn back to a very wide-eyed, very stiff Delilah. She’s already seen me in one of my worst states, but this is a version she’s never met. “You see, until then, our father was willing to negotiate for peace, and he might have gotten there. He understood how expensive war is. Dollars, lives, it’s nasty business. He wanted very much to avoid that.”
“We all did,” Vincent interjects in a tight voice.
I swing around on him, snarling. “That didn’t stop you from gunning down a member of the Bernardi family, did it? Did you ever stop to think what it would have meant, you doing that?”
“When you’re in a situation where it’s you or the other guy, I hate to tell you, but there’s no time to stop and think.” The son of a bitch has the nerve to look at Delilah, who shrinks under his gaze. “Listening to him, you would think he never got his hands dirty.”
“I’ve gotten my hands plenty dirty, which we both know.”
“Now, you get to sit behind the desk and call the shots, right? While I’m holed up in some crumbling fucking piazza, all because some asshole shot his mouth off and insulted Sera—”
“Enough!” Delilah jumps when I slam my fist against the table. “Don’t talk about her.”
“She was my sister, too. They were my parents.”
“And you got them fucking killed, you reckless son of a bitch!”
I shouldn’t have said it. Those words have sat on my chest for the past year, and I’ve never spoken them out loud. Not to Jock, not even to my own reflection in the mirror. Did it feel good, finally letting loose? In the moment, of course it did. But just like fucking the wrong person tends to lose its luster once I’m finished coming, the thrill of wounding my brother faded before I took another breath. Now I feel small, petty.
“Finally. You finally shared your true thoughts. It took you long enough.” He practically bares his teeth at me before standing, tossing his napkin aside. “Thank you, Delilah, for your lovely company this evening. At least there’s someone around this place worth talking to.”
“That’s right,” I mutter, “go lick your wounds. But make sure everybody feels sorry for you before you go.”
He jerks a thumb at me. “You know, he used to be a lot more fun before he got a stick permanently wedged up his ass. Maybe you can loosen it for him.”
“Leave her out of this.” He’s already on his way out of the room, muttering in Italian. I raise my voice to be heard over him. “And considering it was your stupidity that wedged that stick where it is, maybe shut your fucking mouth, huh?”
I swallow the rest of my wine, relishing the sensation of so much cold liquid running through my burning chest. Sitting here, playing games, joking around and flirting when he has the blood of our parents and sister on his hands. For the past year he’s lazed around in the Italian countryside while I scraped and clawed and pieced our family’s business together.
Delilah makes a choked sound. “I should go, I guess.” Rather than wait for my approval she pushes her chair away from the table.
