17. VIN
VIN
The smell in this closed up room makes me want to puke. Fuck, breathing air makes me want to puke. I can’t remember the last time I did anything but pour bottle after bottle of whiskey down my throat.
And ignoring my phone until it finally died. Anything to not hear about this fucking funeral, calling Ronan, or starting a life that doesn’t include Sophie. I know I told Tommy and Matti I’d get up and get things going when they left. But I fucking didn’t. Sue me.
I don’t get up when someone darkens the doorway and doesn’t move.
Squinting toward the shadow, I’m not sure if there’s even anything there until it speaks.
“You look like shit.” It’s a female voice I can’t quite place right now.
“Thanks.”
“It wasn’t a compliment, Vin.”
Fucking Siena. I groan and bury my face in the carpet. “Didn’t think it was.”
There’s silence and I think she might be gone until I hear the rake of curtain rings across the rod and look up to see Siena ripping open the curtains.
“Fuck! Close that!”
“No. The guys are worried about you. The funeral is in three days. Apparently there’s a list of shit you have to do and people are getting nervous that you haven’t done it.”
“Mind your business.”
“This is my business. This is the health and safety of my husband. Of my child. And for some reason it appears to balance on you making healthy choices. So now you need to get the fuck up and take care of your brothers like they’re trying to take care of you.”
I lift my glass and drink. The whiskey isn’t great. It stopped being great when I ran out of Whistle Pig, but it’s rough and getting the job done. “No.”
“Get. Up.”
“Fuck you.”
She sighs. ”Don’t be a dick, Vin. I brought you pastina.”
I roll my eyes.
She comes around my chair and sets a bowl on the coffee table in front of me. The smell hits like a brick. Ordinarily, it would smell great but right now it just makes me sick.
“Is that Sophie’s?” I hear myself ask in a voice that sounds almost desperate and I immediately fucking hate myself. “Did she send it?”
Siena purses her lips. “No, you shit. I made it. It’s her recipe, but she didn’t send it.” She sits down across from me uninvited. “You know she’s moved on, right?”
Oddly, she doesn’t sound like she’s fucking gloating, but the words still hit me like ice water, sobering me up.
“What the fuck does that mean? Is she with that Irish fuck?”
“You mean Gavin,” Siena says calmly, “who owns a linen company. And treats her well.”
“I fucking hired that company for her.”
“Then you did two things right,” she says, sitting back in her seat and holding up two fingers. “Getting out of her life and introducing her to someone who is a good match for her.”
“Fucking Irish fuck.”
“Isn’t your fiancée Irish?” She tilts her head. “You should probably get more comfortable with the family you’re marrying into.”
“That’s business.” I look at her directly for the first time since she came in. “As in my business, not yours.”
“Fine. But don’t judge what Sophie’s doing when you’re doing the exact same thing.”
“It is not the same thing.” Why the fuck does no one seem to understand this? “I have to marry this woman. I’m not dating her. I’m not sleeping with her. I’m not sleeping with anybody.”
“Bullshit.” She gestures at the bottles on the windowsill. “You fuck at least one woman every time you drink this much, and it looks like you’ve been drinking for weeks. And my understanding is that you did fuck her. Isn’t that how you bought yourself more time with the Irish?”
“We didn’t—” I stop, and shake my head. This is none of her fucking business. ”You know what? Fuck you. I don’t owe you an explanation. Get out.” I stand and point at the bowl. “Take the soup with you. I’m not a goddamn invalid.”
“Vin, I came to say something to you.”
“I don’t give a fuck!”
Something in me just snaps, and I pick up the bowl and throw it. It hits the wall across the room and explodes, broth sheeting down the plaster.
The silence afterward is loud.
Siena looks at the wall for a moment then back at me. She’s not scared. If anything, she just looks tired and a little bored.
“You’re an idiot, Vin,” she says, quietly. “You had the attention of the most incredible woman in the city and you threw it away.”
“I didn’t have a choice.”
“Really. Because I thought you were the boss.”
I don’t answer.
“Not yet,” I finally say. Not until after the fucking funeral.
She nods slowly, like something just clicked for her. “Is that what this is? Is it fear? Of finally sitting in your father’s seat?”
“I’m not scared of a God damn thing, prin— Siena.”
She blinks, then almost smiles. “Vin, I think that’s the first time you’ve ever called me by my name.” I roll my eyes, and she sighs. “Okay, then so why won’t you do what you have to do to get ready for the funeral? And everything that goes with it?”
Her gaze is direct and intense and I hold it defiantly. If I’m honest, I respect her for being brave enough to face me. There are few men strong enough to do that.
I still don’t answer, though. Not because I’m refusing to, but because I don’t have one. I’ve been telling myself it’s about Ashlyn, about the marriage, about the events that the wedding sets into motion. But I see what she’s saying. It’s clearly more than that.
You’re a fuck-up, Vincenzo. My father’s thick accent, sounds off in my brain. Like it always does. Like it always has.
My biggest fear is proving him right.
Siena reaches into her bag and pulls out a piece of heavy cream-colored paper and drops it on the couch cushion next to me: a funeral program with Aurelio’s name printed across the front.
“Your underboss and consigliere decided it’s time,” she says. “You don’t have to be there. Honestly, in your current condition, it’s probably better if you’re not. But it’s happening.”
I look at the program. “You can’t have a funeral for a dead don without the new don present.”
“You seem to forget.” Her voice is almost gentle, which is really fucking strange.
“You can do whatever you want. You’re the boss, Vin.
If you don’t want to show up, you don’t have to.
If you don’t want to marry someone, you don’t have to.
” She meets my eyes. “But you will be boss when the funeral happens unless you decide you don’t want the job. ”
I find another bottle—I don’t know where it came from—and drink from it directly, a long pull that burns all the way down.
Siena watches me, disappointment etched on her face. Wouldn’t be the first time someone looked at me that way, and it won’t be the last. She can join the fucking club.
My father thought I was a fuck-up. My brothers are over it. Sophie’s done with me.
I drink again.
The last thing I see clearly is Siena standing, gathering her bag, glancing back at me one more time before she leaves.
Then it’s just the bottle, then the ceiling, then nothing.