The door is yanked open, cutting into the tense atmosphere.
A thickset woman with short auburn hair wearing a burgundy silk dress bulldozes into the room. “Sabella hasn’t come down yet. I swear—” She stops short when she notices us and quickly schools herself. “Oh. I didn’t know you were busy.”
Like gentlemen are taught to do when a woman enters a room, I get to my feet. Not that I’m anything of the kind. I just prefer the intimidating advantage of my height.
When she cowers a little, I can’t suppress a grin.
My father bows. “We were just done.” He takes her hand and kisses her fingers without touching his lips to her skin. “How are you, Margaret?”
“Fine, thank you,” she says with a stiff back.
My father extends an arm toward me. “This is my son, Angelo.”
I offer her a hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Edwards.”
Her fingers are limp in my mine. She pulls away before we’ve properly shaken hands, regarding me with a downturned mouth.
An awkward silence follows, which she breaks by asking my father, “How is Teresa?”
“In good health.” My father inclines his head. “She asked me to congratulate you on Sabella’s birthday. She would’ve come, but this is a business trip for Angelo and me.”
The polite exchange is amusing. It’s nothing but role play, a practiced stage act devised by civil society. Yet when cut down to the bone, we’re all selfish monsters. Underneath the pretense, we only care about furthering our own agendas.
Margaret pulls her lips into a pinch. “Maybe next time.”
“Maybe.” My father shrugs. “Who knows? Next time, we may welcome you in Corsica.”
She glances at her husband with a question burning in her eyes.
“We’ve kept you from your guests,” my father says. “We should let you get back to them.”
“Yes.” Margaret looks both worried and relieved. “We better go outside before our absence appears rude.”
Edwards comes around his desk and opens a door that exits onto the veranda. “This way.”
We step aside for Margaret to go ahead.
“If you’ll excuse us,” she says when we’re outside. “I need a word with my husband.”
“I know how taxing these affairs can be.” My father takes a lighter from his pocket. “Don’t worry about us. We’ll make ourselves at home.”
Frowning, she takes her husband’s arm and leads him down the veranda and through the sliding doors. Before disappearing into the lounge, she looks over her shoulder with the expression of someone who’s just stepped into dog shit.
My father lights his cigarillo, takes a drag, and studies the crowd as he blows out the smoke.
Like mine, his calmness is deceptive. Inside, I’m a fucking stick of dynamite with a burning fuse.
No one promises me something and then takes it away.
No one refuses me what’s mine.
It’s a tactical mistake.
Denying me only makes me want it twice as much. I’ll not only fight ten times harder to get it but also as dirty as necessary.
I can’t say I didn’t expect resistance after our cool reception at the office. I bargained on some negotiations and modifications of the terms of our contract. What I didn’t foresee was Edwards’s blunt refusal to honor an oath he’d made to my father. I remember his promise. I was there.
No one fucks us over, and no one throws our generosity back in our faces. Our surname isn’t Russo for nothing.
“That’s the oldest sister,” my father says, waving his cigarillo toward the people milling on the lawn. “The one with the burgundy dress.”
I spot her easily. She’s an attractive woman by classical standards. According to rumors, she’s the beautiful one. When people talk about the sisters, they refer to Sabella as the other one.
“Takes after her mother,” he muses. “The man at her side is her fiancé. He’s not involved in the business.”
Meaning he’s no one to be worried about. That’s not who I’m interested in. My gaze is drawn to Ryan Edwards, Benjamin’s first-born.
Like I weigh him, he measures me from across the distance. We only met yesterday at his father’s office, and we’re already enemies.
“That’s who you have to watch out for,” my father says, following my gaze. “He’s the sole heir of Edwards’s business. He won’t be happy when he finds out he’ll have to share the power.”
I’m not worried about Ryan Edwards. He may be six years older, but he’s no match for me. He’s soft and impassive, a man who doesn’t like to get down and dirty when the work gets gritty.
My dad coughs.
I jut my chin toward the cigarillo. “Should you be doing that?”
“Grant an old man the small pleasures he has left,” he says, but he does put the cigarillo out in an ashtray on the garden table. “Want a drink? I need something to ease this scratch in my throat.”
Looking at the bar where rosé and champagne are cooling in ice buckets, I shake my head. I haven’t touched the Scotch Edwards poured. I’m too fucking livid, and alcohol only makes me more aggressive.
“Suit yourself,” he says, making his way to the lawn where the waiters are circulating. “In that case, you’re driving.”
Brooding, I watch his back. I don’t like the way he handled Edwards. He should’ve been firmer with him.
Years ago, Edwards came to my father and asked him to help remove a few obstacles in his business. As an imports and exports broker, Edwards saw an opportunity to make money by letting illegal shipments enter the country via the port of Cape Town. He had the right connections. He had the capital to buy off the government officials and to pay the controllers to turn a blind eye. Our job was to get rid of the ones who stood in his way, the ones who couldn’t be corrupted.
The part we contributed, doing his dirty work for more than a decade, made him one of the big players in the industry. Today, he controls everything that comes and goes through Cape Town by sea. Yes, we get our cut, but we don’t need the money. Not anymore. We’ve made enough. What we need is power. Recognition. An open door into circles where those born with the right surname and status pull their noses up at us. We need to be in on the deals. That has always been the objective.
As Edwards’s son-in-law, I’ll be rewarded shares and a position on the board of his company. As per the contract, he’ll give me a fancy title and voting rights. Of his three children, Sabella is Edwards’s favorite. She’s been the apple of his eye since the day she was born. He makes no secret of it. He’ll never do anything to jeopardize her future. Marrying her is the only sure way of getting my foot in the door and keeping it there. As soon as my seed is planted in her belly and she gives me an heir, war will no longer be necessary. The Edwards family won’t kill their grandchild’s father. Correction—they won’t hire an assassin to do it.
Owning a stake in the company will give us access to information that will make us more powerful than the governments of the countries involved in Edwards’s illegal smuggling. It will open a new avenue for us, giving us direct access to Africa. It will guarantee us unequalled leverage in negotiating terms with the companies that currently pay the government bribes to smuggle their illegal arms via the port of Durban in the Kwazulu-Natal province. We can have the government by the balls and secure kickbacks that will earn us a monopoly in Africa. Governments and arms dealers alike will have no one else to turn to but us. They’ll be our puppets. The Russo family will rule. Our name will be revered. The only thing standing between that kind of power and my family is a sixteen-year-old girl.