Bitter Poetry

Prologue

DANTE

T oday, we laid my father to rest after he finally lost his battle with heart disease.

My mother had built her world around him.

Preparing for his funeral, and all the legalities that surround somebody passing, has given her a purpose and focus amid the grief.

But that’s over now, and she will struggle in the vacuum left behind.

Tomorrow, I’m going to sit my mother down, and we’ll have a conversation about her future. Change is coming for us all, whether we want it or not.

The bottom line: with my father gone, she’s not safe here.

The last guests have just left our family home where the wake was held. My brother, Christian is sprawled out on the couch, his head tipped back, his bleary eyes staring into space.

“Go to bed, Christian.”

“I’m good, thanks.” He lifts his head and defiantly takes another sip from the whiskey tumbler in his hand.

He might be a made man, but our mother still thinks of him as her baby, and I don’t like him drinking in front of her.

He’s seventeen, I’m twelve years older with no siblings between us.

I never thought of myself as the responsible adult, but with my father gone, I guess I’m going to have to step up.

I take the glass from him. “At least let your brain fully develop before you rot it.”

He grunts and rolls his eyes, but he does heave himself up, and after accepting a kiss from our mother, he heads up the stairs to his room.

We both watch him go.

“I’m going to miss him,” she says.

I get the impression she’s not only talking about my father.

“I know what you’re going to say.” Her hand squeezes over mine. “I didn’t think I’d want to leave. This home, so many memories.”

I love this house, so I understand her sentiments toward it. The Georgian-style brick dwelling reflects quiet prestige. My father’s position as consigliere demanded something grand—something that made a statement. But it was my mother’s touch that softened it, turning it into a home.

She’s still looking wistfully toward the door where Christian went. “He’s still so young, even if he?—”

She leaves it hanging.

Some people just thrive in the underworld. Christian has a clarity of purpose and violence is carved into his soul.

“You’ll look after Christian?” she asks.

I feel the tightening in my chest. Today has been rough on all of us. “Of course. He can move in with me.”

Christian doesn’t give credence to many people’s opinions, nor take advice easily. But he listened to our father. With him gone, it’s down to me to make sure he doesn’t go off the rails.

“I’ll have someone come around the house once you’ve” —left the country— “settled your affairs. Put covers over everything, make sure it’s looked after and maintained.”

“You’re right,” she says. “It will be easier, I think, knowing everything is as I left it, that I can come back if I choose to.”

I hope she doesn’t. Not that I wish my mother away. But it’s for the best and she will have the support of family in Italy—namely, my late uncle’s widow, whom she was close to.

Which is when the unraveling began.

“I thought Leon might attend the funeral.”

She’s fishing. “He has his reasons.”

“Your father was always proud of you, never forget that. And give my love to your cousin.” She motions for me to lean down so she can kiss my cheek.

My smile is rueful. “How did you know Leon was here?”

“That he was in America? Just a guess. He will visit the grave tomorrow, I presume, and return home?”

“That’s his intention, yes.”

“I appreciate Leon paying his respects in his own way, and how difficult it must be for him to be here. Please thank him for me and tell him to give my love to his mother. You can let him know I’ll be joining them in Italy soon.

” She takes her leave, the housekeeper fussing over her as I show myself out.

I drive back to my city apartment, where Leon is staying over with me.

I find him sitting on the couch with a drink and a ball game playing on the flatscreen. The volume is down low. Perhaps more of a distraction than genuine interest.

Seeing him brings back memories of our younger years—we had some wild times, both before and after we graduated.

“How did it go?” he asks, switching the game off and sitting up.

“About as good as you’d expect.” I loosen my tie and pull it off, then shrug out of my suit jacket and toss it over the arm of the couch before heading over to get a drink.

“I assume Ettore was there?” he asks.

Being back here will reopen old wounds.

“Full to the brim with fake sorrow.” I pour myself a drink and lift the bottle in question. He shakes his head, indicating the half-full glass in his hand.

“Has your mother made a decision?” he asks.

I take the couch opposite, sip my drink, and enjoy the burn. “Yeah. She’s going to settle her affairs and head over to join your mom.”

“Good,” he says. “She’s better off there. What about Christian?”

“He is moving in with me.”

He raises a brow. “I heard he’s been made… and got kicked out of school.”

I grimace. “Yes to both. The latter was under orders. He might have gotten enthusiastic about the execution.”

Leon grins. “He was always special.”

“Not in a good way,” I say dryly.

His smile fades. “I’m sorry about your father.”

“Thanks.” I sip my whiskey.

The two of us were always close, although he was a year ahead of me at college.

I’d forgotten how easy it was to be around him, how the conversation always flowed whether we were arguing about a game, getting shitfaced, or discussing more serious matters.

He carries a casual air of confidence that is as much about his upbringing as his six-five presence.

Despite spending the last few years acting the playboy in the Mediterranean, he’s anything but.

His father’s death was a loss for the wider family as well as our own, but Leon’s choice to leave was a different kind of blow.

“You think Don Cedro will name you consigliere?” he asks.

“Yes. He also said he would tell Carmela about our marriage arrangement.”

“You good with that?”

“It’s what my father wanted.”

“Are you good with that?”

Yeah, I’d forgotten what a pushy bastard he could be. “I am.”

“You don’t sound fucking certain. If he’s going to tell her, you need to be certain.”

“I know you think of her as a little sister, so don’t come at me.

But right now, I enjoy my freedom; either way, I don’t underestimate the task ahead of me in filling my father’s shoes.

I’ve said it needs to be her decision. But she’s still only seventeen, and if she doesn’t want this, I’m not going to act butt hurt.

Hopefully, she goes to college, pushing it out another few years. ”

“Very forward thinking of you, Dante, waiting. Most men in our world want to bag them young and still keep the mistress on the side. My sister and Carmela used to be best friends, so yeah, don’t fucking hurt her, and don’t put this on the table with her unless you’re prepared to commit.”

Our world? I park that for now.

“I’m getting the picture, Leon. And, please, give me some fucking credit.”

“Alright then.” He grins. “Fuck. Listen to us discussing marriage. At least one of us is on the right trajectory.”

His smile fades.

The mood is soured.

He downs the rest of his whiskey.

“College feels like a long time ago,” I say. “The plans we used to make for the future, where you took over from your father as underboss, and I was the consigliere, really came off the rails.”

He puts his glass down on the coffee table. “Only one of them did.”

“Will you see Don Cedro while you’re here?”

“No. Not this time.”

“This time?”

“Maybe never. I’ve made my peace with it.”

“Don’t bullshit me. You still suspect Ettore Gallo was behind your father’s death?”

He looks me in the eye, our shared history, former hopes, dreams, and aspirations now specters sitting in judgment. “Nothing has come to light to change my mind. One day, Ettore Gallo is going to pay.”