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Uncle Enzo adds with ill-staged regret, “We wouldn’t keep you from your wedding bed if it wasn’t important.”
Sabella stares at the place setting in front of her, two red circles growing on her cheeks.
“Fine.” I motion at the corridor. “You know the way.”
They file through the door, Toma and Gianni in tow. When Gianni twists his neck to stare at Sabella, I slap him upside the head.
On my way out, I stop next to her chair. Her chest stills with the breath she’s taken.
Kissing the top of her head, I whisper in her ear, “You may as well make yourself useful.”
She pulls away and tilts her face up to frown at me.
In case she’s unclear about my meaning, I clarify, “I’m sure Heidi can do with a hand in the kitchen.”
From how she glowers, I suspect she took the suggestion as an insult. My intention is good. Being useful made my mother happy. The sooner I involve Sabella in my household, the sooner she’ll integrate.
Her eyes burn holes in the back of my head as I walk from the room.
My uncles and cousins sit on the sofas facing the fireplace in the study. A fire already burns high, no doubt thanks to Heidi’s foresight. Cognac and cigars are set out on the coffee table. I pour and hand the glasses around, but I don’t touch the cigars. I’m not going down the same road as my father, not after what happened to him.
“Angelo,” Uncle Nico says.
I sip my cognac, waiting for him to continue.
“We heard BAC took your wife in for questioning in Marseille.”
I raise a brow. “That was fast.”
His stilted nod is placating. “It’s our business to know everything that concerns them.”
“Your point?”
The leather creaks as Uncle Enzo shifts to the edge of his seat. “How long did they keep her?”
I clench my jaw as I relay that fact. “A few hours.”
Uncle Enzo watches me with sly attention. “That’s a long time.”
“They put a lot of red tape in place.” My hold on the glass tightens in a reflex reaction. “It took my lawyer time to work through it.”
Uncle Enzo licks his bottom lip as he studies the rug before flicking his gaze back to me. “A lot can happen in a few hours.”
“I understand your concern—”
Uncle Nico cuts me short. “We need the tape of the interrogation.” He dips his head. “You know why.”
“They erased it.” I work my jaw. “My informant already tried to get his hands on it.”
Uncle Nico’s tone is laced with caution. “Then you can’t trust her.”
“You know what your father would’ve done,” Uncle Enzo says.
My rage ignites in a second. I don’t take the bait. I don’t ask what my father would’ve done because I know.
My flat voice doesn’t give the violence simmering inside me away. “I’m not my father.”
“You are the head of this business now,” Uncle Nico says, letting the unspoken meaning hang between us and making it clear to everyone in the room.
