SALVAGE PRIDE

3

“Those things are so damn expensive. You shouldn’t have wasted your money. We could have had your uncle help you bring it from the city.”

“It wasn’t too bad. And now, I can sit back and enjoy seeing you all.” Without worrying my stuff will find its way into one of your closets. Mom has a communal closet philosophy with her daughters. Not a big deal, except that she doesn’t take care of other people’s belongings any better than she does her own. My budget is tight enough. I don’t need her accidentally ruining things that took me weeks to save up for.

“Well,” one of my younger sisters Livia starts in, “you couldn’t have picked a better time to visit. Although, we won’t have as much time for fun stuff, it’ll be totally worth it. Mr. De Rossi died, and now everyone is coming to town for the funeral. They’ve already started arriving—so many hot guys

—capos and everything. Even Gia could land some deep pockets if she’d do her hair and try a little.” “Liv, have some respect,” Gia chides softly. “This is a time of mourning, not a singles mixer.”

She rolls her eyes. “Whatever, more for me then.”

Marca, the youngest, snickers while I gape in confusion.

“Silvano De Rossi? He died? When? Why didn’t you tell me?” My gaze flitters from one person to the next in search of answers. I hadn’t been close to the man, but I’d known him all my life. He was a sort of king in my world—both the estate owner and the underboss of the Giordano crime family, of which my father was a member. He’d always been such a guaranteed fixture in my life that it was incomprehensible for him to be gone.

My mother starts to speak, but Dad cuts her off.

“It was sudden. He died not even two days ago. We’ve been so busy with preparations that we haven’t had much time to think of calling.” His already sad eyes are rife with loss. I’d been so overwhelmed with my own excitement at seeing him that I’d missed the sorrow so clearly lining his face. A dull ache radiates through my chest.

“I’m so sorry, Daddy.” I wrap my arms around him again, this time with the tenderness of sympathy. I may not have been close to Silvano, but he and Dad had known each other for over thirty years. They’d been trusted friends, despite the disparity in their ranks. My father had never been elevated beyond the level of a soldier. Silvano had trusted Dad with the security of his family and the operations of his home—responsibilities that spoke volumes of his respect for my father. A promotion to capo would have been even better, but Dad always seemed satisfied with his station.

“It was unexpected, that’s all.” The pain lacing his words undermines their brave façade. “How did it happen? I didn’t think he was all that old.”

“Just sixty-six. Heart attack.”

“It’s a shame,” Mom adds with exaggerated sincerity. “But it also means a world of work for us. That’s why no one was at the house when you got here. Zeno has invited everyone his dad ever knew for the funeral the day after tomorrow. We have to prepare for that and the wake, plus the big house will be totally full for the next few days.”

Dad says something about needing to get back over there, but I hardly hear him.

Considering the circumstances. Zeno’s words come back to me, and I cringe. Silvano was Zeno’s father—a father he idolized. I thought he’d just been rude like so many times before, but now, a sliver of guilt wedges uncomfortably between my shoulder blades that I hadn’t been a touch more compassionate.

I’m not even entirely sure why. He is no one to me. Not anymore.

We’d been good friends as children, then … we suddenly weren’t. No explanation. No inciting incident. One warm April day, Zeno stopped talking to me. A few years later, he moved to the city while I was finishing high school, and we rarely saw one another since. If our paths did cross, he was curt and aloof, keeping our brief interactions as sterile as possible.

He’s grown into an attractive, successful man, quickly making a name for himself in the Giordano family. According to my father, who keeps me somewhat informed on family affairs, Zeno is poised to take over his father’s role as underboss. But that isn’t what ties my tongue at the prospect of seeing him again this week. More than anything, he stirs up a distressing sense of confusion inside me. For ages, I wondered what I’d done wrong. I’d shed tear after tear with each of his rebuffs in the early days. As I grew to accept the loss of our friendship, my suffering was limited to a melancholy remorse each time our paths crossed. Maturity assured me that his issues had nothing to do with me, but without an explanation, the jagged wound he’d inflicted never seemed to fully heal.

“And to top it off,” my mother’s voice draws me from my turbulent thoughts, “the girl we’d hired to help Cecelia in the kitchen quit a couple of weeks ago. I was kind of hoping you wouldn’t mind giving us a hand, just for these few days.”

So that’s why I hadn’t been informed of Silvano’s death. Despite Dad’s repeated attempts to keep my mother from gossiping, she always blabs. The death had definitely been major enough for her to at least shoot me a text. She hadn’t said anything because she didn’t want to scare me off with the imminent possibility of being put to work. She knew this was one of the few breaks I had from work and school, but she didn’t care. She would prefer I lighten her load than allow me the chance to change my plans.

I sigh heavily.