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“Don’t you ever miss the old days?” she asked him. “The nights when we ate ramen and scrounged change from the sofa for ice cream?”
His eyes turned steely. “No.”
She swallowed her unease and looked around the living room, her eyes skimming the expensive real estate, the wall of windows with a multimillion-dollar view of the city, the designer furnishings.
“I just want you to know that I don’t need all of this,” she said. “You’re my brother. All that matters to me is you.”
“But it's a good life we’ve made, isn’t it?” Pride was evident in his voice.
“Of course. I would have been lost without you all these years, Primo. You know how grateful I am.”
He squeezed her hand. “There is no gratitude between us. We’re family.”
She smiled. “Always. I’ve just been thinking…”
“What is it?”
“We have money now, don’t we?” she asked. “Money set aside?”
His expression grew guarded. “You don’t have to worry about that.”
“I know,” she said. “But what if we put it into something legitimate? A restaurant or real estate or some other business.”
“We have a business.”
“I know we do.” She said it quickly, walking the tightrope between his moods. “But if we went into something legitimate, I wouldn’t worry so much about you.”
“We don’t have to worry about the law,” he said. “You know that.”
She did. There were plenty of police officers and detectives, even a judge, on the Fiore payroll. But there were never any guarantees, and as much as she worried about the law, Malcolm had become an even bigger concern in the days since her strange conversation with him at the club.
“You’ve done a wonderful job of protecting us,” she said. “But it isn’t only the law I’m worried about.”
There was a long moment when he seemed to weigh her words. Then he sat up, rose to his feet, paced to the window.
“Why do you do this,bella?” he asked softly, his back still turned to her.
She stood, crossed the room and placed a hand on his shoulder. “I know his friendship means a lot to you,” she said. “I understand that. I just worry that he’s reckless. That he pushes you to do things that are dangerous for us all.”
“You don’t think I make my own decisions?”
His voice had turned cold. A warning sign if there ever was one. But it was too late now. She knew from experience that he wouldn’t let her back away from the argument now that she’d started it.
“Of course you do,” she said. “But Malcolm is your underboss. That carries weight, and I don’t think he shows your level of wisdom in making decisions.”
It was a gamble. Sometimes stroking Primo’s ego worked.
Other times it just made everything worse.
He turned to face her. “If I’m so wise, you would trust me.”
“I do,” she said. “You know I do.”
“No.” He shook his head, and a trace of childhood petulance settled behind the mask of his adulthood. “If you did, you wouldn’t question my decisions.”
She sighed. “I trust you, Primo. It’s Malcolm I don’t trust.”
“They’re one and the same. If you question Malcolm, you’re questioning me.” He pushed past her and she reached out to touch his arm. He shook her off, turned around, his eyes flashing. “Don’t do it again. Please don’t do it again.”
She watched him leave the room, trying to ignore the feeling that it was a very real warning.
One that would bring very real consequences.
