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Giancarlo

PLAYLIST: ? YOUR BLOOD - NOTHING BUT THIEVES ?

Two weeks later…

Giovanni’s dead.

The first twenty-four hours were a blur. The wreckage from the yacht was recovered. Bits and pieces had been floating in the water. The bodies were found soon after. Those were in bits and pieces, too.

Giovanni was identified. As were the others.

The Italian authorities claim the blast was so sudden, none of them stood a chance. None of them even knew what was happening. Dead before the next blink of their eyes.

We held a funeral for him. Small and private. Tasteful. Just the family.

We buried him in the same cemetery as our mother. For as ruthless as my brother was, deep down he would’ve liked that.

But the family doesn’t spare much time for grieving. The show must go on. The world doesn’t stop spinning. There’s always money to be made.

I’m half in and out, my body present but my mind gone when they tell me. It was over drinks after the funeral. A haze of cigar smoke clouded the room. Pa wasn’t supposed to be drinkingorsmoking. He did both with little regard for his own health. Claro was no better, sloppy and shitfaced. His saggy, ruddy cheeks puffed out lie a blowfish as he swore in Italian.

“They must pay for this,” he said.

Pa directed a dubious look his way. “Who’s they?”

“You know who. The Lovatos. They did this. They carried this out.”

“In Portofino? Why wait? Why not here…or in Vegas?”

“I know their work,” Claro slurred. He slopped down more whiskey. “Trust me, brother. It was them.”

Pa and Uncle Claro have always had an interesting dynamic. Brothers ruling the family. Except Pa became Don. Claro’s served him as underboss.

Even fresh off a line, with my mind spinning, it was like watching Giovanni and me thirty years into the future. The only difference being we’re not just brothers. We’re twins.

Were.

Weweretwins.

Giovanni’s dead.

“It’s you,” Pa told me that afternoon. “You will have to carry on the legacy.”

I’m an actor. Giovanni’s coldness was always rooted in him hiding his emotions. He saw them as a weakness and kept them buried deep. I’m the opposite—I don’t have any emotions to hide. The only emotions I have belong to others.

When Pa told me the throne was now mine, I reacted how I was supposed to react. As hopped-up as I was, I gave him what he wanted. I channeled Giovanni.

His favorite.

The son he truly wanted to rule.

“It’s an honor,” I said, bowing my head in gratitude. The smoke in the room only made it stuffier; for a fall afternoon, it was sweltering. I picked up my whiskey on the rocks and tossed the rest back. “I won’t disappoint you, Pa.”

His old, cracked face remained impassive. He wasn’t convinced. “You have the burden of the family on your shoulders now, Giancarlo. Proceed wisely.”

“I will bring the Sorrentino name to even more power.”

Beads of sweat dotted my forehead. I quickly wiped them away with the back of my hand.

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