Chapter 2 Alessandro
ALESSANDRO
Let them celebrate. Let them feel like they’ve won a victory today. Let that arrogant prick, Luca, give me all the filthy looks he wants. It’s not going to change anything.
I am still here.
I’m not going anywhere.
Whether or not I want to.
Do any of these half-drunken idiots know who I am? Probably. I’ve never made a habit of hiding myself from the world, at least not until recently—the time I spent in Italy notwithstanding.
But before then? Back when life made sense, and men in my position did not bring fucking police detectives into their personal lives. When it didn’t have to be said that the police are the enemy and should not be trusted, much less fucked and brought into the fold.
I set out to put things in their proper place, and I’m the villain. Not the undisciplined, arrogant second son who put his whole family in jeopardy, to say nothing of the rest of us.
There he is, laughing and kissing his new wife. The sheltered prince who only thinks he has the first idea what it means to truly sacrifice. I did what I did thanks to his stupidity. And what did I get for my trouble?
“Could you refill this for me?” Some older woman hands me a glass without hardly looking at me. “Whiskey sour.”
I’m not the waitstaff, Grandma. I could tell her that, of course. I could let her know I’m one of Rocco Santoro’s newest hires, charged with keeping the family safe. What a joke.
Instead, I offer her a professional smile and reply, “Certainly, ma’am.” She walks away, and I leave the empty glass on the nearest table before continuing to patrol the perimeter of the party. I wonder how long she’ll wait before she realizes she’s not getting her goddamn drink.
This is pathetic.
How far have I fallen when the closest thing to a rebellion is refusing to fetch a whiskey sour for an older woman?
“You are damn lucky anyone is willing to give you this chance.” Once again, I’m chilled to the bone when Dad’s voice tickles my memory.
Not because he shocked me or told me anything I didn’t already know, but because he looked at me like we were strangers.
No, not strangers, that isn’t the right word because a stranger wouldn’t be so full of contempt.
He threw me to the wolves, washed his hands of me, and looked glad to do it.
Another voice fills the air, coming from the bandstand.
“We would like to invite all of the couples in attendance to the dance floor.” The band leader beckons with one arm, waving people closer while the band behind him launches into a soft, romantic standard.
I watch the floor fill up while my chest fills with something I can’t identify.
It’s not resentment or jealousy. I couldn’t care less about relationships and have never felt my life lacking because I wasn’t in one.
It’s so far down the list of what I consider important, it might as well not be on the list at all.
It’s their smiles. Their phony well wishes to the so-called happy couple.
This whole situation turns my stomach, though it looks like I’m the odd man out.
Luca Santoro turned his back on everything I know we were both raised to believe, and jeopardized everything our fathers and their fathers built, and we’re all supposed to celebrate.
Or rather, they are supposed to celebrate while I’m forced to watch.
There they are, the bride and groom, swaying slowly in the center of the floor.
My sister and her husband aren’t far from them.
I have to begrudgingly admit she looks happy.
Dante does seem to care for her, which is not easy for me to admit, even to myself.
I hope he knows if he ever mistreats her, he’s a fucking dead man.
And there’s Rocco and Isabella, barely moving, talking softly to each other like they’re catching up after a busy day, checking in with each other. Smiling at the newlyweds, probably patting themselves on the back for what a great job they did, blah blah fucking-blah.
Let him play the generous, benign patriarch role. I guess his advancing age makes it easier for people to believe he’s mellowed, but I know the truth. He can wash his hands all he wants, but some stains can’t be erased. He has shed too much blood to pretend he’s innocent. Not to me.
My body practically sags with relief when the grounds start to empty around midnight.
I’m hungry as hell. I was told there would be food waiting for us up in the kitchen when the time comes.
A couple of the other guards, whose names I haven’t learned, wander up there now.
There can’t be more than fifteen or twenty guests left, none of whom look like they could pose a threat if they tried, and there are still guys walking the grounds, watching over things.
I take that as my cue to duck away and cross the lush lawn, lit by strings of clear lights twinkling in a faint breeze that shakes them a little. The bride and groom had a beautiful day for their wedding. Is it wrong that I was hoping for rain? Check, a fucking thunderstorm would be more like it.
I’ve been here almost two months now, but my entrance still makes the kitchen go silent for a long, heavy moment before the general chatter picks up again.
The help mingle around, picking at what’s left now that the people who matter have eaten their fill.
They’re at the bottom of the totem pole, but they still look at me like I’m the antichrist. Anything to feel superior to someone else, I guess.
Their opinions mean nothing.
I learned long ago who matters and who doesn’t.
Life is easier to navigate when you’re picky about what you allow under your skin. Some low-level goons on the Santoro payroll who can barely string two sentences together? Not worth my time.
Still, I give them a civil nod before filling a small plate with a sausage and pepper sandwich and caprese salad. At least they did the food right today.
No sooner have I sat down to eat than a ripple of energy travels through the kitchen. I’ve barely sat down with my back to the doors leading to the patio, but I know who walked in. Everyone is sitting up a little straighter, holding their breath.
“Please, eat, help us get rid of some of these leftovers.” Rocco chuckles generously while I continue eating without acknowledging him. He’ll have to forgive me if I don’t find it necessary to stroke his ego.
He clears his throat before coming to a stop beside me.
“I’d like to see you in my study.” I’ve barely processed the request by the time he is already on the move, taking off his bowtie as he wanders out into the hall.
The food in my mouth sours, but I force myself to swallow, tossing the rest in the trash before following him.
I’ve lost my appetite. It’s the imperious way he has about him—the king in his castle.
We are all expected to fall in line, and me most of all.
After all, I’m the one who needs to be put in his place, aren’t I?
I still find it hard to believe sometimes that I’m walking these halls as an employee. There’s something surreal about it, like I’m watching myself from above as I trail behind my boss like the good little boy I’m supposed to be.
“Don’t expect me to bail your ass out ever again.
” Dad, taunting me from the past, the night Rocco announced in front of his entire family that I would work for them.
Not exactly a high point of my life, but my father’s indifference turning to straight-up resentment and even rage was the icing on shit cake.
“If you know what’s good for you, you will play nice.
You’ll smile, you will be respectful, you will be eager to help in any way possible. ”
And I have been, even though it’s not exactly in my nature to do as I’m told. If anything, the contrary attitude etched into my DNA has caused me more trouble than it’s worth.
But I’ve been good and played nice. Now, I’m being led into the study for what has to be a dressing down. I can’t imagine why else the old man would single me out. I’m sure he wants me to regret fucking with his precious son and his precious son’s precious cop girlfriend-turned-wife.
I’m braced for whatever is about to happen by the time I come to a stop in front of his desk while he drops into his chair with a deep, heavy sigh. “What a day!” He groans, rubbing the back of his neck. “I might sleep until next week.”
We aren’t friends.
Why does he have to pretend otherwise?
“Everyone seemed to have a good time,” I venture, since it seems like he expects me to say something.
When his faded eyes narrow, I can already hear what’s bound to be his response. No thanks to you. My daughter-in-law worried about you the entire day. My precious son had to be mildly inconvenienced by your presence.
Instead, he replies, “I have a new assignment for you.”
The man changes topics so fast it gives me whiplash. He also has a habit of dropping a bomb on a guy out of nowhere, like he wants to keep me unsteady.
“What can I do?” I ask, folding my hands in front of me.
“I don’t know if you’ve heard this, but I gave Giulia permission to start college. She’ll be attending NYU three days a week starting Monday.”
And this involves me exactly how? “That’s a big step for her.
” The little brat. She might as well wear a sign hanging from around her neck, announcing she craves a reaction from me.
She practically stands on her head to get my attention, and there are times I would swear I look up at the house at night while walking the grounds and see her looking down at me.
I’m not sure what it means, but it doesn’t give me a comfortable feeling.
And there’s another uncomfortable feeling that gripped me earlier, during the ceremony, which I watched from the back of the crowd.
Giulia was beautiful in that pink dress, with her black curls gathered at the nape of her neck.
A few of them were teased free by the breeze and grazed her skin, and it wasn’t until the newlyweds kissed for the first time that I realized I’d missed the whole ceremony while staring at her.
“It is,” he agrees, popping the top two buttons on his shirt and leaning back in the chair. He doesn’t look well, but that’s nothing compared to the way Dad’s health has deteriorated. I came back to the States and found a withered old man in his place.
He sighs again, then drops the bomb. “She’ll need a driver. Someone I can trust to take her into the city. Someone savvy enough to spot trouble a mile away. Do you understand what I’m getting at?”
Yes, I understand perfectly. He wants me to babysit. He wants me to make sure nobody gets too close to his precious little girl. For all I know, he wants me off the grounds as much as possible, since precious Luca and precious Emilia are uncomfortable with my presence.
He’s waiting for an answer, so I nod slowly. “Yes. I get the picture.”
“I’m counting on you to keep her safe and away from the wrong kind of people,” he adds, because evidently he thinks I’m too stupid to understand without having the point drilled into my head. “She’s the most important thing in my life, Alessandro. I need you to keep that in mind.”
“I will.” I arch an eyebrow, waiting for more, and can barely hide my relief when he dismisses me with a wave of his hand. Do I like being dismissed that way, without a word? Fuck no. But it means I can get out of this room and stop holding onto my unnatural, uncomfortable smile.
It slides from my face, and I let it drop, heading out through the front door rather than going back to the kitchen.
I rented a small house nearby, less than ten minutes’ drive, and I have never been in such a hurry to get there.
I have to get away from this place and all the people in it.
Recharging after a day full of playing nice and pretending to be happy has wiped me out more thoroughly than anything ever has.
Gravel crunches under my feet, and somehow I manage not to run for my car. Days like this test me, to put it mildly. Nodding to a handful of guards, I unlock the door of my Maserati and only release the breath I was holding once I’m seated behind the wheel.
I can think now.
I can breathe easier.
Though I haven’t breathed easy since that fateful dinner two months ago when Dad threw me to the wolves. It wasn’t until afterward, when we were alone, and I could finally voice my feelings about him blindsiding me, that he dropped the bomb.
As I roll through the gates and take a left toward home, I remember confronting him in the car and the bombshell that rocked me to my core.
“I know you think I’m some foolish, dying old man, but I still have a trick or two up my sleeve.
” Resting in the seat after hours spent pretending to be healthier than he is, he turned his head slowly to look at me with contempt.
“You might have your sister fooled into thinking you only came back here for her sake, but we both know that that’s not true, don’t we? ”
I shudder now at the memory. It’s so fresh and vivid, the sense of having ice water poured over my head. “What do you think you know?” I asked, trying to play it off.
“Let’s just say it was in your best interest to get the hell out of Italy and put an ocean between you and the family of the man you killed.
And don’t bother lying because I have it on good authority.
” Clicking his tongue, he sighed. The sound carried disappointment built up over more than thirty years of my life.
“If you want to keep your head attached to your neck, you will do whatever it is Rocco and his family tell you to do. Otherwise, I will wash my hands of you and make sure everyone on the East Coast does the same. Got me?”
As I roll down quiet, darkened roads, I still can’t decide whether the bargain I made was worth it. Am I this desperate to live? Subjugating myself to people who are beneath me and always have been?
And now I have to play driver to that brat.
The only positive I can find in the situation is knowing how it will irritate her, being forced to spend time with me.
Once again, I see how far I’ve fallen. The best I can hope for now is to irritate an eighteen-year-old and deprive an older woman of a cocktail.
“You’ve come a long way, Alessandro,” I mutter to myself while my foot presses harder on the gas pedal, and I wish like hell I could outrun the consequences of the choices I’ve made.