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Ant was just… young.
I know I was probably biased with this shit because I was his big brother, but I just felt like he needed a little more time in before he got that position officially. Not because I thought he wasn’t capable, that he didn’t know how serious that shit was. But because he was young. Because he was supposed to be out there fucking shit up and learning from his mistakes and not worrying about what the men under him thought.
He needed time to live before he had to lead.
That was what I wanted for him.
He had plenty of time.
He was making more than enough money for anything he might want or need.
Another two years, maybe three, then he would have gotten to live for himself before he got serious.
“How are things going with… what was her name?”
“Avery,” I supplied.
“She’s good. A little… nervous,” I said, deciding it was the nicest way to put it. “And she’s working with almost no supplies. I scared her last night while she was carrying around a pot of hot pasta water, and she splashed it on herself. But, hopefully after there’s more shit in the house, she’ll feel more comfortable.”
“Did you ever get a bed in that guest room?” Lorenzo asked, making a snort escape me.
“Nope,” I admitted. “That was, ah, her first task, I guess.”
“At least she got to pick out what she’s gonna be living with for a while. You said your ma set all this shit up, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Let me guess. She’s young and pretty.”
“You know my mom well.”
“She just wants you to be settled,” Lorenzo said. “Especially after the last couple of years.”
He didn’t usually bring up shit like that. We shared thoughts and even feelings, but everyone knew what a touchy subject the past few years have been. How I’d changed. Become something other than who I used to be.
There was a darkness and a moodiness that had replaced my former light and somewhat carefree self. Hell, even my wardrobe had become more dreary.
I used to always wear one of my ridiculous belt buckles or even wear a band tee with my slacks and dress shoes. Just never quite following the rules of convention, rebelling in little ways when I could. Especially under his father’s rule back before Lorenzo took over.
But then the shit went down with my sister. And by “shit,” I mean she’d been kidnapped and forced to marry a man I hated, a man who had been a rival to our Family.
It didn’t matter that she eventually grew to love the man, that they were married and happy.
The damage had been done by then.
The helplessness.
The feeling of failure.
Because I hadn’t done the one basic thing a man of the house was supposed to do. Protect their loved ones. Especially the women and kids.
I’d failed in that.
And it had eaten away at me for weeks, for months, until it chewed through all that shit that used to be lighter and easier about me.
I just never felt quite the same after. Life felt heavier, darker, loaded with situations that I couldn’t control, no matter how much money or influence I had.
It had weighed me down. And I’d never found a way to shrug it off. Even if I am happy that my sister found her person at the end of it.
“Yeah,” I agreed. “And it’s nice to come home to food. And I’m sure it will be even nicer to come home to furniture. And plates and real forks.”
“I had a good life before Gia,” Lorenzo said. “But I have a fucking amazing one with her.”
“She’s just a house manager,” I insisted.
“Okay,” he agreed, nodding. “It still stands. Women bring a warmth to a home that just isn’t there when they aren’t. It’ll be nice. You’ll see.”
The conversation fell away then as Lorenzo’s phone started ringing.
“Yeah, Salvatore?” he answered. We had him and Santi waiting at the courthouse. Sal, because he’d been the only one of us who went to prison on a murder charge, losing a big chunk of his life in the process, and Santi because he was the “cleanest” of all of us. Brother to the capo dei capi, sure, but on paper, all he was in the world was a successful businessman.
He was who we were having post bail.
“Okay. Yeah. Pay it. Got it. Yep. Get it done.”
“He got bail?” I asked, shocked.
Sure, we had some friends in the justice system, but the chances of getting someone friendly to us were slim.
“Seven-hundred-fifty-thousand,” Lorenzo said, nodding, leaning back in his chair with a deep exhale. “He’s got to wear an ankle monitor and he’s not allowed to leave the house unless he gets permission first. Court or attorney shit, doctor, that kind of thing.”
“That was expected,” I said, figuring being home would always be better than being in prison.
