He doesn’t give up. “But your anger is still blazing.”
Blazing? It’s a raging inferno. When I think about it, darkness slithers into my body and soul, and I want to wreck every-fucking-thing in my path. Whatever makes a sound, moves, breathes, lives—whatever I can see—I just want to annihilate it all. The raging beast inside me wants satisfaction.
“Well, I’m not like you. I can’t rationalize everything.” It’s kind of a low blow, but whenever I get worked up, I can’t seem to filter my words.
“I know that,” Seb replies calmly, not at all affected by my statement.
Marco’s huff comes right after. “How about a cold one to chill the spirits?”
I’m about to refuse when Rick appears on the threshold. His brown eyes find me straight away. “Don Massimo wants to see you.” He snaps his fingers and points at the office door.
I give him a firm nod and head there. One knock later, I’m stepping inside. Don Massimo is sitting behind his big mahogany desk. His gray, gelled hair looks shiny under the artificial light, his cheeks red and lips thin—Seb doesn’t resemble his father much. There are two empty glasses and a bottle of whiskey on the desk.
“Come in and sit,” he orders, his Italian accent still strong when he speaks.
I oblige, closing the heavy wooden door behind me and taking my seat on one of the leather armchairs. My back is straight, my attention solely on him. Respect is the first thingil capotaught us.
His dark eyes lock with mine, and he stares for a long moment like he’s trying to read my thoughts. As always, I feel the urge to squirm under his intense gaze, but I force myself not to.Il capohas a way of making people uncomfortable just with one look. That’s something I’d like to learn, but I think it comes with experience.
He clicks his tongue and nods before giving me a small, closed-mouth smile. “Do you remember the first time we met?”
I nod. “Yes, Boss,” How can I forget? I was a foolish kid about to die while trying to avenge my parents. “It was in Enzino’s garden when I sneaked in.” Don Massimo was there for a meeting, and he caught me just as I was about to slip inside.
“I grabbed you from your dirty collar and lifted you up in the air.” He makes a fist and raises his arm, shaking it high just like he did to me that day, eleven years ago. “You were a scrawnybambino, all bones and skin with a tiny knife in your hand, but you fought like a lion.Un leone.” His open palm falls on the desk with a slap. “When I let you go, I never thought I’d see you again.”
But he did, a year later, when he came to the group home to adopt Marco.
“Do you know why I took you in?” he asks.
“You were thinking about Seb’s future, and Marco vouched for me,” I reply succinctly, knowing how he hates talkers.
He chose us so Seb could have trusted men defending him when he took his place commanding the five families. He did it to protect his son, to give him an extra weapon—two weapons—against the back-stabbing, blood-soaked criminal underworld. Seb needs us since most people are wary of him. His way of thinking and acting is somewhat peculiar, different from that of an average person. I don’t mind it; I actually think that his atypical outlook and approach to things will one day turn him into the bestcapothis family has ever seen. But still, he needs to have people in his corner who get him—or at least some parts of him.
“No.” His response makes me frown.
“I took you in because I saw a lot of me in you. That same fire, that hunger. The same urge to wipe away everything and everyone.” He rolls his pinky ring around his finger. On the round, gold surface, there’s a lion fighting a snake—the Leone crest.
“You know what happened to my Rosy.”
His wife. She was killed in front of their house by a rival family when Seb was only one.
“Her death put me on this path. I was only a mere soldier at the time, but I becameil capo, powerful and unbeatable, to find and end the people who took her away from me and my Sebastiano. Waiting was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, but it was worth it.” His voice turns deep at the end, like he’s remembering a very enjoyable memory.
I know what he’s trying to tell me. It’s obvious. But how much longer do I have to watch Enzino and his son breathe? Every time I look at the long scars marring my nose and the side of my face, I’m a kid again, witnessing my mother’s murder before the same blade that took her life is turned on me.
“I know you don’t give a damn about becoming a made man. But I did it to protect you. Neither you nor Marco can be killed by another mobster without my approval.”
I know that asit-downwith Don Massimo is obligatory. But it’s a double-edged sword since I have to adhere to the Mafia code over my own vendetta. The Leone family comes first.
“You’ll see all the other benefits over time,” he adds.
I nod stiffly. I could ask him to let me go to Italy to kill Mario, but I made a deal with him the day he brought me here with Marco: he’ll help me get my vendetta at the right time, and in exchange, I have to stay by Seb’s side. It was a sweet deal for me since he gave me everything I needed, like a home, an education, a family. But the deep injustice my late parents suffered never left me.
Don Massimo pushes his chair back to take something out of the drawer—a rectangular box—and then leans over the desk to give it to me. “A gift for you.”
I remove the lid, and inside, lying on a bed of red velvet, is the most exquisite dagger I’ve ever seen. In the past few years, I discovered an appreciation for knives as well as a natural talent forusingthem. And this custom blade is clearly a masterpiece, made of white steel, approximately six inches long, slender, elegant, and beautifully dangerous. It feels light in my hand. The grip, an intricate combination of ivory and ebony, shows the unique artistry. There’s something carved on the blade.
“It’s your initials and the Leone crest underneath,” Don Massimo answers to my silent question.