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“All right,” I say, biting my lip.
She brushes her hands off in the sink and walks to me with a sigh. “Give it time. It’s tough for him, having lost them both on the same day. He was very close to his sister. You just opened old wounds going in there.” Her smile is reassuring. “That’s all.”
No, that’s not all. That’s not only why he hates me, not by a long shot, but I can’t tell her that.
She takes my shoulders and gives a squeeze. “Why don’t you drink your tea while I get your bed ready? I added sugar. My mother always said a warm cup of tea with lots of sugar is the best medicine for nerves and fatigue.”
“Oh, no,” I say quickly. “I can make the bed.”
“I’ll be happy to.” She waves a hand. “It’ll only take me a minute.” Her gaze drifts to my knee again. “I’ll bring disinfectant and band-aids tomorrow. You’ll be back to normal in no time.”
Looking pleased with herself, she marches up the stairs.
I don’t correct her. I don’t tell her that nothing will be normal again. I don’t tell her that this is my punishment, and that I’m frightened to death of what my new future holds.
Chapter
Four
Angelo
* * *
At first light, my uncles pull up in front of the house. I instruct Heidi to greet them at the door and show them to the dining room where I’m having breakfast. The table is set with a selection of pastries. A pot of fresh coffee stands at my elbow.
A pang of nostalgia hits me straight in the chest as a memory of my father protesting his breakfast menu flashes through my mind. All he ever wanted was his damn pastries and his cigarillos. He was right. We shouldn’t have kept those small pleasures from him. In the end, he died much too young.
Uncles Enzo and Nico file into the room, dressed in their signature dark suits. Identical in their features, they bear a strong resemblance to my father, which makes what I have to do more difficult than it already is.
“Angelo,” Uncle Nico says in his gravelly voice. “Isn’t your wife taking breakfast with you?”
The comment is a little too smug for my liking. “My wife is none of your business.”
He gives a start, obviously not having expected the rebuke.
Uncle Enzo clears his throat. “Why are we here? It’s early.” He adds in a grumpy tone, “I don’t like to leave the house before I had my second breakfast.”
“Get used to it,” I say, pouring a cup of coffee.
They eye the coffee before scanning my face, no doubt wondering why I don’t invite them to sit or offer them a cup.
My explanation is simple. “Kneel.”
Their mouths drop open. They stand motionless, staring at me.
“You heard me,” I say, giving them my cruel, polished smile as I bring the porcelain cup to my lips. “On your knees.”
“Angelo,” Uncle Nico says, splaying his palms as he takes a step forward. “What has gotten into you? What’s the meaning of this?”
“Swear your alliance to me.” I lean back in my chair. “That’s how it works when it’s done officially, isn’t it?”
The ruddiness the early morning cold left on Uncle Enzo’s cheeks vanishes. They turn paler than the milk on the table. “We’re loyal to you. You know that.”
“Do I?” I sip my coffee. “I got a different impression last night.”
“I can assure you—” Uncle Nico starts.
“Then do so.” I put my cup down in the saucer harder than necessary. “Bow down and prove it.”
