AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“What the hell is this?” He leaps to his feet from where he had seated himself earlier, all of his careful indolence vanishing from his posture to reveal his agitation more plainly than any words. “You’re bringing some stranger into the fold, and you want me to respect him? Without any warning, or… or…”
Father’s expression hardens. “You forget yourself,mio figlio.”
It’s all he says, but we’re neither deaf nor stupid; we hear the unspoken words. The tension between Father and Angel has clamored in this household for decades, and tonight is no different.
Sit down.
Behave.
Remember your place.
Angel’s face reddens, and he draws himself up, stiff with anger. “It is my job to be your right hand, Papa.” His voice thins with emotion he swiftly suppresses, except for the fist he thumps against his chest. “My duty.” He approaches Damon, glaring a challenge until he’s standing toe to toe, and touches his fist lightly to Damon’s chest. “Myhonor.”
Damon’s upper lip curls, but he makes no reply.
“Angel—” I don’t know what I intend to say. It doesn’t matter because Angel has turned back to face our father and is speaking again.
“I will do as you ask,” he says. “But I won’t pretend it is not the greatest insult you could have dealt me.”
As Father sputters, Angel strides from the room, rage an echo trembling in his wake.
“My apologies, Papparado—” Father begins.
Damon waves a hand. “It is nothing. I expected some growing pains.” He slants a look at us, clearly wanting to say more, but he must think better of it, because he smiles slightly instead.
The room, silent for a moment, feels heavy. Father looks at me and lifts an eyebrow, the command silent but obvious.
I rise from the piano bench and clasp my hands lightly before me. “I’ll just go see if the meal is ready.”
Mother’s fingers reach for my arm as I glide past. I pause, looking down at her as she sits beside my sister. “Who’s the fancy lady now?” she says, the words slurring slightly. “Why don’t you keep to your place and sit down?”
I close and open my eyes in a slow blink. She’s gone from buzzed to drunk in minutes, it seems. Father is speaking intently with Damon Papparado, unaware of his wife’s state. Papparado sees, though, his eyes resting on us even as he answers a question.
“I guess we’re just going to air all our dirty laundry tonight,” I mutter and tug gently at my arm as I continue to leave the room.
She’s not finished and wrenches me closer. The other hand, the one with the drink in it, flails with the motion, and gin sloshes out to splash Vivi.
“Mother!” she shrieks, lifting her hands to wipe at the alcohol staining her face and chest.
“Dio santo. I am surrounded by imbeciles!” Father marches toward the door, done with the lot of us.
I’m not concerned with him. At Vivi’s squawk, a feral kind of fury crosses our mother’s face, and she rears back, her hand holding the glass raised to strike.
I don’t think. I don’t hesitate. I just move, allowing the momentum of having her other hand on my arm carry me forward, in between her and Vivi. There’s a muffled exclamation—Papparado’s, I think— and then a rush of pure, blinding pain as the glass collides with my temple.
And then there’s nothing at all.
CHAPTER THREE
DAMON
Crueltyispartofour world. It comes with the territory of the Mafia, be it Italian, Irish, Russian… any of the syndicates. We expect violence from men. It’s a necessary evil, unless you want to look weak, like dying prey, easy pickings for the superior male.
I understand violence.
Fuck me, I’ve been on the end of such more than I care to admit.
But seeing the oldest girl, Luciana-called-Lulu, tumble to the ground makes something primal rise inside me. I have never felt protective of anything or anyone outside my family… so why are my feet rushing toward her?
