It’s bad enough that the cold asshole in me has a tendency to rear its ugly head around her at times; I don’t want her to have the ugly mental picture of my callousness, too. Knowing her kind soul, she would just brush it aside and explain my anesthetized nature as a result of the way my own parents died. I guess becoming an orphan at the age of two could have had some influence on me.
Some traitorous scum placed a dirty bomb in my uncle’s car, hoping it would be Big Sal’s demise, but instead it took the lives of my mother, my father, and my aunt—Pietro’s mom and my uncle’s wife. The stories I’ve heard of how the boss dealt with the cazzo makes Bianchi’s little torture sessions look like child’s play. But still, there is something about hearing such things second-hand and then having a front row seat to the action. Working with Silvio Bianchi will be just that—getting my hands nice and dirty and even though other people’s suffering doesn’t bother me, I have no love for it either.
At least, my uncle’s honesty today did clear up some of my own misgivings on why he had given Silvio such a post. If I were the boss and could choose the man’s fate, I’d put him as the Outfit’s enforcer, since he does the job in practice anyway. But I understand the logic behind my uncle’s decision. Being an enforcer would never appease Bianchi’s own wishes of power. Being the boss’ second in command though, well, that title the bastard wears proudly and with a fucking smile on his arrogant face.
“Knock. Knock,” Pietro calls out under my bedroom door’s threshold.
“My birthday has sure made me popular this morning,” I grumble, not taking my eyes off the white ceiling.
“Hmm, I see dear old dad popped by before me. Sorry, cuz. Wanted to give you the heads up before he gave you the bad news, but I kind of got in late last night,” he grins wide, with the uncannily similar smile his father is known for.
Unfortunately, it’s a Romano trait I didn’t inherit—the wicked, carefree grin. My mother had it, too. In all the photographs I have, her smile looked as if it would light up a room. I take after my father, though. Everyone said he was a cold fish and that he and my mother were proof that opposites attract because only her smile would bring life to his usually bleak features.
Only one person has ever made me smile like that.
“Hope last night’s booty call was better than my morning wake up one, then,” I grunt, annoyed my cousin preferred to get tail than warn me that I’d get such ill tidings this morning.
“Oh, c’mon now. Don’t be like that. Hey, so Pop ordered you to work under The Butcher on your sweet sixteen. Still bet it beats your tenth when he handed you a Glock and a target,” he mocks, sitting on my bed and making it bounce.
“Best not let your consigliere hear you call him The Butcher if you don’t want your hide belted,” I chide, amused at the thought.
“Fuck off! First of all, I’m eighteen and too old to get the belt. And second, he is Pop’s consigliere, not mine,” he counters seriously the last part, the humor in his voice no longer anywhere in sight.
“Yeah, I know.” I huff out exasperated that the dangling title is still so far from my reach.
“I need you to focus on the game plan, Vince. Suck it up with Bianchi and do what needs to be done,” Pietro instructs, his laid-back tone long gone, and in its place, the voice of the Outfit’s true heir.
I just nod in reply. I’ve had my head on straight since as long as I knew of my own existence. I know what I have to do and how to go about it. Pietro doesn’t have to remind me of my duties. I’m well aware he needs me to be his number two. The world we live in is full of too many enemies to count and being a boss means having his share in spades. But in Pietro’s case, he had one in the making long before he was ever born.
“The Bastardo will be at church today and will come to your party this afternoon. Pop was kind enough to give me my own shitty news this morning, too, so don’t think I got out unscathed from fucked-up news of my own. I need everyone to see that his presence doesn’t affect me in any way, and the only brother I have is the man I’m celebrating with. Do you understand me, Vince?” he adds menacingly, his blond brow in the air. I sit up on the bed and place my hands on my cousin’s shoulders in comfort and strength.
“I’ll play my part, cuz. Just be sure to play yours.”
He doesn’t say anything but gives me a stiff nod before standing up.
“Pop say anything else to you? Aside from shadowing the devil?” he queries, cocking his brow.
“Mentioned a few things. Said to keep our friends close but our enemies closer,” I reply, looking into the face of my blond, blue-eyed cousin, who looks more like he should be on the cover of some teenybopper magazine than being trained to be the head of a crime family.
“Hmm. He told me that once. Sad to say I don’t agree with him much on that regard. I’d rather eliminate my enemies than have to babysit them. Makes for an easier life,” he counters matter of factly, crossing his arms over his chest, unimpressed with his father’s words of wisdom.
“Anything else?”
“Also said to learn your weaknesses before your enemies do,” I smirk, knowing full well Pietro has many flaws, but weakness, I have yet to encounter any aside from The Bastardo.
“Now, on that I agree with him. Better deal with those loose threads while we can, before those who want to use them against us get creative. I know mine by heart now. You know yours, cuz?”
“Can’t say I do. Never gave it much thought.” I shrug unfazed.
My cousin’s bright glow is once more playfully visible, and when his lips start to twist into a side smirk, I know his next words will land quite a punch.
“Remind me to point out your biggest one today. She shouldn’t be hard to find at your party this afternoon. She’s the one with the long ruby hair and usually has your two best friends’ shadows lingering close by,” he mocks poignantly.
My own back stiffens at the comment, and my hands instinctively curl into fists beside me. I turn my back to him and walk the steps I need to my floor-to-ceiling window, counting down from one hundred, hoping it’s enough to cool me down. Pietro knows how protective I am of Selene and he’s never once thrown my affection for her in my face. Calling Selene a weakness is the same as calling the one single, pure feeling I can conjure my downfall.
But I guess the gloves are off and it’s time I look at my friendship with my tesoro as others might see it. More importantly, how our foes will interpret such a friendship.
“See? A vulnerability. Take care to curb it, Vincent. Mold it into something no one will use against you. Especially Bianchi. You know as well as I do, he wouldn’t bat an eye at using his own daughter for his own gain,” Pietro lets out with an exasperated sigh, just adding salt to an already open wound.
“I’ll deal with it,” is all I say.
I don’t even give Pietro the courtesy of saying it to his face. He might be my boss in the future, but right now he’s just my blood, telling me to take caution. And I will, but it doesn’t mean I don’t want to beat his face in for forcing me to confront such a fact on my birthday, of all days.