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“Hmpf,” Liza huffed. “The most culture I ever got was on a high school trip to New York City with the drama club. We saw Les Mis and Phantom.”
“Ah…that explains why you’re so dramatic,” he teased.
She stuck her tongue out at him, and he chuckled. “It must have been wonderful to see so much of the world.”
“It was. Though, when I look back on those vacations now, I can’t help but wonder if they were just another way for Dad to flaunt his wealth to his peers, considering he typically spent most of the holiday working in the hotel, while Mom was the one who took us sightseeing.”
He smiled as he recalled Mom traipsing all over Pompeii with three preteen boys who never tired of pointing out every stone phallus they saw, and damn if there weren’t a lot. Mom laughed every single time they spotted another dick, endlessly patient with their constant tittering over the “everything penis” city. Gage had even started calling it Pompenis.
Matt paused, considering what he’d just said. What he’d just remembered. He didn’t have a clue where his comment had come from. Talking about his parents was difficult, so he didn’t do it. Then he realized it was the first time he’d thought of his mother and not felt that unbearable crushing weight on his chest.
And because Liza was Liza, she latched onto the nugget like it was gold and immediately started digging for more.
“Your dad was a workaholic, huh? Sounds like someone I know,” she said, one eyebrow raised, reminding him of the two days he’d wasted hiding in the hotel under the guise of work. The problem was Liza was comparing him to Dad, something that—unbeknownst to her—cut like glass.
“Do you think you take after your dad?” she asked, pouring more salt on the unseen wound. “Or are you more like your mom? My dad swears I’m my mother’s twin, the two of us cut from the same cloth—looks-wise and personality-wise, and at least half the time, I think he means that as a compliment,” she said, laughing.
“And now, I’m interested in meeting your mom to see if that’s true. I took after my dad,” Matt admitted, though it brought him no joy to say so. “He made sure of it.”
“What do you mean?”
Matt wasn’t sure why he was opening this vein, but after keeping his own counsel for so many years, it felt…good to be able to talk to someone else. “When I was thirteen, Dad decided it was time I stopped fucking around doing kid stuff and started learning the business.”
Liza’s eyes widened. “Thirteen?”
“From the moment we were born, Dad had assigned my brothers and me our roles. I was the heir, Gage the spare, and Conor was extra insurance, though if you ask my youngest brother, I suspect he’d use the word unnecessary.” He tried to temper the bitterness in his tone, but he was certain he was failing.
“Sounds…terrible. What business could you have done at thirteen?” Liza asked. “You were still in school.”
“I was, but when I got home every afternoon, I reported to his office. I did my homework there, a silent observer to my father’s meetings and business dealings. I believe his intention was that I would learn how to emulate him. And it worked.”
“How so?”
“In business, he was cold, calculating, and ruthless. Dad was the one who taught me to how to discover someone’s worth, then exploit it for gain. Dante Russo was a wealth of old-school wisdom. In addition to the Russos always come out on top gem, he had strong opinions about politics, marriage, and children.”
“Do I want to know what those opinions were?”
Now that Matt had started, he found he didn’t want to stop. “Probably not. But, since you asked… His opinions were pretty simple. His only use for politics was for financial gain. Grease the right palm with enough cash and you can have anything you wanted. As for marriage, the only purpose of a wife was as arm candy and to provide heirs. And an oldie but a goodie, as far as child-rearing?—”
“Let me guess. Children should be seen, not heard.”
Matt nodded, tapping his nose once. “You got it in one.”
“Wow. That’s some pretty shitty advice. My dad just taught me how to ride a bike and fish,” Liza said with a kind smile, trying to lighten the mood.
Matt returned it, appreciating her efforts.
“And you really think you’re like him?” Liza probably hoped she was leading him to some great reveal, that this would be the point where he would admit he wasn’t anything like his old man.
“I was.”
She noticed the past tense, waited for him to expound on it.
“I idolized my dad, Liza. From the time I was fifteen until I was twenty-three, I didn’t just think the sun rose and set on my father’s shoulders, I believed he paid someone to do it—that God himself answered to Dante Russo. I strove to be exactly like him, and in truth, I succeeded.”
“So you’re nothing like your mom?”
Matt started to shake his head, then stopped. “Mom was a talented artist. When she wasn’t playing video games with Gage or trading books with Conor, she drew. Primarily comic books.”
