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Mateo’s face softens as he looks at his daughter. “Do you want me to watch her?” He offers.
Bambi leans down to kiss him. “No, I’ve got it. We’re going to go to the park first anyway.”
He thinks about it for a few seconds while his wife goes around the kitchen, grabbing things she needs. A few tissues to shove in her diaper bag. A cup with some water for Marceila. Her reusable grocery bags. She manages to gather everything while holding their daughter. She’s a true superhero. “If you think of anything, text me. We’ll probably be at the park for an hour, so you’ve got some time. Good to see you, Cesare,” she smiles at me, “I hope your arm is feeling better. Did they ever catch the guys that tried to rob Dillons?”
No. And they never will,I think to myself. One was roughed up and sent to the hospital with a broken leg. His relationship to the Kings is the only thing that saved him. The other two are dead. Their bodies were disposed of in an undisclosed location—meaning I told my guysnotto tell me where they were dumped. Good luck to the people that find them twenty years from now. “The police haven’t said anything about a capture, but it’s alright. My arm is almost 100% healed. The doc said I can start physical therapy in a few days, and then it’s back to trying to teach Gabriel how to throw a curve ball.”
Mateo snorts in derision. “As if Nero will let you teach his son to throw a ball. He was always better at sports than you.”
“Hey!” I chastise my older brother with a glare. “I was good at sports!”
“No,” Mateo corrects, “Kessawas good at sports. You just got a little better when the two of you were dating. Your talents lie elsewhere.”
“You don’t even have any talents,” I mumble petulantly before crossing my arms over my chest.
Bambi watches the volleys fly back and forth between the two of us with a little smile on her face. “Whatever talents you do or don’t have,” she offers with a smile, “I’m glad you’re doing better. Let me know if there’s anything I can help you with.”
When she leaves the kitchen, Mateo turns to me and says, “You don’t need my wife. You got one of your own.”
I shake my head in frustration. “No, what I have is a good friend who’s been helping me out in a tough time. I told you that. I told you that I would also work on asking her out. You said that you’d give me time to do that. Yousaid, Mateo. So what the fuck?”
The smile on his face is so wide that he can’t even deny what I’m accusing him of. “I’m a doer, Cesare. You know that. That’s how I got my girl back.”
Yeah, he stalked Bambi until she was too weak to say no. She was a fucking deer in headlights when he came around, and he took advantage of that. “I wouldn’t say our methods are similar.” Sarcasm drips off my words like they were dunked in a vat of it.
Mateo’s response is calculated. “You mean hiring a few guys to shoot up the local Dillons isn’t the same as hiring a guy to look into Francesca’s past? Is it because no one ended updyingas a result of what I did?”
I slide my tongue across my bottom lip to give my brain a few more seconds to calm down before it explodes. I know that Mateo is trying to be helpful, but he’s going about it the wrong way. “I told you towait,Mat.”
“And I’m not good at waiting,Cesare.” He shrugs his shoulders. “You wanted the girl; I’m getting you the girl. In fact, we should have done this years ago. Can you believe that she had an affair with the fuckingSuperintendentof the district? While she was married?” Mateo shakes his head in awe. “I’ll give it to you, she’s certainly more interesting than I thought. Not that there’s anything wrong with Kessa,” he adds quickly, “she just isn’t my speed.”
“Yeah, your speed is women that get you locked up for three years.”
“You know what,” Mateo glares, “bite me. At least I’m happy. What the fuck are you, Cesare?” When I don’t immediately respond, he nods his head as if he’s right. “Exactly. You’re nothing. I’m doing you a fucking favor, okay? I got dirt on the girl, and now she’s going to come running to you. You’ll be there to comfort her, tell her it’s going to be alright, blah fucking blah. You’re welcome.”
Between gritted teeth, I tell him that I never said thank you.
“You should have, you ungrateful prick. I did what you’ve been too scared to do these last few years. Peter died like half a decade ago.” It’s only been four years, but no one is counting. “You waited a year like any good man would. Then when Francesca started dating again, you sabotaged her relationships. Instead of telling her you’d matured and grown up and wanted to be with her, you acted like her gay BFF. You helped her through the break-ups. You told her she was beautiful, and you pumped up her confidence. Then you’d fuck around with some broad and ruin any credibility you might have had with her. You brought this on yourself, Cesare. I did what you weren’t man enough to do.”
The conversation nearly comes to blows. In my mind’s eye, I can already see myself launching across the table and beating the shit out of my older brother. Ultimately, we’d both be beaten bloody with no resolution for our problems. “And what am I supposed to do now, Mat? Since you seem to have all the answers.”
“You wait for her to come to you,” he says calmly. “Then you volunteer to save the day. Tell her you’re going to find the blackmailer and set him straight. Make sure she stays with you during that time. Be real nice to her. Be a good boyfriend. And when this is all said and done, ask her out. You’ll have proven that you can take care of her, and if she argues, tell her she’s no better than you. You might have cheated when you were kids, but she cheated as an adult. If anything, she’s a bigger piece of shit. But frankly, you’re both pieces of shit, and you belong together.”
It isn’t very eloquently put, but Mateo reaches into the heart of the problem. I want to wind up with Kessa; he has provided us a way. It’s incredibly manipulative, but maybe it’s what has to happen. Francesca Scot is my soulmate; it’s about time she realized that.
10
FRANCESCA
If you’re ever in trouble, tell me. We’ll figure it out together.
I was seventeen when Cesare said that to me. We were in a field getting drunk on a Friday night, as kids in Kansas are apt to do. I’d had a couple of wine coolers on an empty stomach, and I was new to drinking. My guts felt like they were twisting and turning, and I was sure that at any moment, I was going to throw up. Cesare held my hair back and coached me through getting drunk. I never did throw up, but we had a heart-to-heart.
As we basked in the flames’ glow and felt the bonfire’s heat on our faces, I asked Cesare about his family. I told myself that I could always blame it on being drunk if he got mad. “Does your family do illegal stuff?” The moment was tense, and my stomach churned even more. If he got angry, I reallywouldthrow up.
But instead, he wrapped an arm around my shoulders and pulled me close. “My family does what they need to do to protect their own. The world hasn’t always been friendly to Italians, especially in the United States. That meant a lot of groups were formed under a strong family name in order to protect one another.” I knew what he was saying, but I just listened. I didn’t want him to stop talking. Every word he spoke was like a salve for my inflamed stomach.
“My grandfather was a very powerful man, but when he came to Manhattan, they looked down on him and others like him. So they formed their own little family. Sometimes the things they did weren’t legal by today’s standards,” he explained, “but it protected them. It’s a tradition passed down to my father, and it’ll be passed down to Raniero, too. And, to some extent, myself.”
