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“And you are here making coffee?”
“I wanted to make two and bring one to you” she smiles nervously.
I close the distance, “Rose how is what we talked about before your father’s death going?”
“I’m working on it.”
“And so far, what can you say?”
“Better than the first day he brought me here,” she pours herself a cup of coffee. The poignant smell of coffee makes my mouth water. “Care for some?” She plucks another cup from the rake and begins to pour me a cup of coffee.
“I don’t have all the time in the world.”
“These things take time, but his fixation is an advantage,” she laughs derisively, “You should see your nephew, he is losing it slowly. Soon we might need a nurse for him,” she stretches the cup of coffee to me and I receive it.
“Watch what you say,” I glance around to be sure the loud mouth didn’t just jeopardize anything for me, “Walls have ears,” I sip my coffee.
Hmm.
Just how I like it. Dark with no cream or sweetener. Something I and the scoundrel have in common. Something I taught him to start liking as a teenager, a long time ago, when I was still a favorite uncle.
“Rose,” I down the rest of my coffee and drop the cup on the cooking island, not wanting to hover, “I hope you know what is at stake here?”
She nods, “I promise you, I will pay you double for the trouble of housing me and my family when we needed help the most,” she sips her coffee.
“I want you and Benedetto to have a good life together, just play the game to get him to that point. I mean well for the both of you, and it will mean something to your father that you joined your family name with a reputable name as ours.”
“I know,” she bites her upper lip and nods.
“Good, I will send a credit card to you so you can begin to start your life again. You’ve earned that.”
I spin and walk out of the kitchen, knowing I’ve reiterated my point in a way that still has her seeing I have her best interest at heart even though I couldn’t care less for her.
I take the stairs and round up to my office, and to my surprise, I meet the scoundrel Benedetto on the way. Then I hear our bedroom door close. It's a good thing he is not talking to me. I walk into my office as I see him going back to his floor but my steps alter when I get closer to my desk and find a letter and Benito’s gun on it. I recognize that gun. I gifted that gun to him.
Scoundrel.
I marsh my teeth.
Another ploy to get under my skin.
I pick up the letter and read through it to see what looks like Benito’s last words to his son.
I snort. Nice try Benedetto. Now you’re forging your father’s handwriting and putting his gun on my desk?
I am about to dispose of both when it clicks. He has never outrightly accused me of killing his father before. He had only been angry when I married his mother.
This is new.
I stomp out with the gun and letter in hand and take the stairs quickly to his quarter but he isn’t there, so I stomp back out to Rose in the kitchen and find him there, sitting on the stool opposite her and sipping coffee.
“What is the meaning of this?” I hold the letter up, “And why are you threatening me with your father’s gun?”
“Threats?” He shakes his head, “I’m pointing out the obvious, you killed him,” he spins to me.
I laugh, pretending that hearing him say that for the first time in four years doesn’t shake me.
“That’s the new madness you want to spin now?” I walk closer to him but hold back when Maria walks into the kitchen holding charcoal pencils and glances between the both of us and the weapon in my hand, “I am not doing anything with it, he placed it on my desk this morning,” I hold the gun up.
