Carla would be nineteen in two years, one year older than Ines, and it would be unfair toward her to make her wait, and I didn’t want to. I wanted Carla. “No. I don’t need to wait.” I paused. “But I’m not here to discuss my wedding.”
Father tilted his head in mock curiosity. “Why are you here then?”
He knew damn well why I was here. Stifling my annoyance, I said, “To discuss Ines’ marriage with you. Jacopo isn’t someone we should consider bringing into our family.”
“As the son of my Consigliere and your future Consigliere, it’s the expected bond. The Scuderis have been waiting for Ines. Jacopo is very eager to marry your sister. He’s been refusing every other woman so far. Rocco is already married and will certainly soon have an heir. Jacopo deserves to be rewarded for his patience.”
I didn’t mention that Rocco already had two daughters. For my father, girls weren’t worth anything, which was why he treated Ines like a trophy to hand around. I shook my head. “He’s too old for Ines, Father. And his reputation leaves a lot to be desired. Maybe you haven’t heard the rumors but I’ve been working with Jacopo long enough to know he’s a sadist and psychopath. You can’t allow Ines to be at his mercy.”
Father gave me a look as if I didn’t understand the first thing about life. “If Ines answers to his demands, she’ll be fine. Each of us has to make sacrifices. She should be proud that she’s given to someone of his status.”
I regarded him, realizing he wouldn’t let me talk him out of this. “You’re making a mistake.”
He raised his finger. “And you should remember your place, Dante. You are my heir, true, but I’m still the Capo of the Outfit, still the master of this house.”
I swallowed my anger. I needed to be clever about this. Arguing with Father wouldn’t change a thing. I gave a terse nod.
“You’re working with Jacopo and Rocco tomorrow. You should congratulate him.”
“I will,” I gritted out.
Later that day Pietro called me and asked for a meeting. I knew what this was about. Given Jacopo’s tendency to brag about everything, he’d likely told everyone about his bond to Ines.
We met at the bar of one of our riverboat casinos for a drink. After dropping off my drink in front of me, the bartender kept his distance, sensing my dark mood.
Pietro was a little over two years older than me and currently working in Chicago before he’d take over as Underboss of Minneapolis from his father in a few years. I was nursing my whiskey when he sank down on the stool beside me, motioning for the barkeeper to give him the same I had.
I glanced toward him.
His shirt was wrinkled and his dark hair all over the place. The second the tumbler sat in front of him, he grabbed it and downed it in one gulp. Then his somber eyes met mine. “Don’t let Jacopo get his hands on Ines, Dante.”
I turned the glass around on the bar. Pietro had asked for Ines’ hand twice. As future Underboss of Minneapolis, he was a good choice. He was only six years older than her, not twelve like Jacopo, and most importantly, he wasn’t a sadist. “Why do you want Ines?” I asked him tiredly.
He frowned. “Because I respect her. Despite her age, she knows how to carry herself. She’s proud and elegant and beautiful.”
“And a good match.”
It was an indisputable fact. Every man in our circles who wanted Ines would be stupid not to consider the positive effect a marriage would have on his future.
“Of course, that too. My family wants a union with your family. But since I danced with Ines a few months ago, I knew I wanted her as my wife.” Pietro grabbed my arm, forcing me to meet his gaze. The honest concern in his eyes surprised me. It wasn’t love. He didn’t know Ines well enough for that, but he obviously cared about her. “Dante, you and I know what kind of man Jacopo is.”
Everyone knew what kind of man Jacopo was. He got off on torture. I, too, occasionally appreciated the power rush it gave, especially if I dealt with traitors or enemies, but Jacopo enjoyed it on a sexual level, which didn’t bode well in a marriage.
I inclined my head, trying to suppress the rage flooding my body.
“How can you be this calm? How can you not be raging?”
I almost smiled. My fury was bottled up deep inside where it would remain until I chose to unleash it. It had taken years to perfect my emotionless mask, now it was as impenetrable as steel. “My father is the Boss. You know it’s his decision, not mine.”
Pietro’s eyes were fierce. “But you disapprove of it.”
Of course I did. How could I not? “Ines is my sister,” I said merely. I wouldn’t say more in public, even if I liked Pietro.
“Can you stand by and watch her being given to a monster?”
“Jacopo is cocky and arrogant. It might get him killed eventually.”
Pietro ordered another drink for himself while I still twisted my first in my hands. I’d never enjoyed getting drunk. The loss of control and inhibitions abhorred me deeply.
“Eventually could be too late for Ines.”
I emptied my whiskey. “They won’t marry until next summer…”
“Next summer? She’s only seventeen then. Won’t they wait until she’s of age?”
The barkeeper held up the bottle but I shook my head. I didn’t want to get a buzz. “One year is a long time, Pietro.” I met his gaze.
He searched my eyes, trying to make sense of my words. I wouldn’t get more explicit than that.
“You can trust me. I can help.”
I gave him a cold smile, not saying anything. I wouldn’t spill my guts to him, or share more than I already had. Pietro was one of the few men I trusted to some extent but definitely not enough to tell him more than was absolutely necessary. “I don’t need your help.”
Rocco and Jacopo waited beside the car when Enzo and I arrived. Jacopo smiled broadly, his head even higher and his chest puffed up. I gave him and his brother a sharp nod. If I uttered a word now, it wouldn’t be anywhere close to the sophisticated cold I was famous for. Enzo shook their hands but from the way his mouth thinned when he touched Jacopo it was obvious what he thought of him. Few people liked Jacopo. I didn’t trust any of them.
Without a word, I slipped into the backseat. Enzo took the steering wheel as usual.
“You’re in the back, Squirt,” Jacopo said to Rocco whose ears turned red. In the past, his entire face had turned the same color but he’d learned to school his features over the years.
Rocco sank down beside me, silent but glaring daggers at the back of his brother’s head. Their animosity went beyond sibling rivalry. It was pure, undiluted hatred.
“Why do you still call him by that name?” Enzo asked in his low rumble as he started the car.
“Didn’t I tell you the story?”
“You told it to everyone repeatedly,” Rocco said quietly.
I gritted my teeth. “Indeed.”
Jacopo threw his brother and me a cruel smile through the rearview mirror. “It is too good a story to forget.”
I hadn’t been present when the name was born. But the story still made the rounds, mostly due to Jacopo bringing it up as soon as it died down. Rocco had been fourteen when Jacopo and his similarly depraved friends had taken him to a whorehouse for the first time. Apparently, Jacopo ordered two dancers to give Rocco very intense lap dances, which made him come in his pants. Naturally, that wasn’t the end of Rocco’s humiliation. Jacopo and his friends then forced Rocco to undress, to wipe his cum on a cracker and eat it. They probably would have found more ways to torture him if Giovanni Aresco, our Underboss here in Chicago, hadn’t intervened.