Chapter 13
catastrophic ripples
brOOKLYN
None of the other Deluca estates, of which there were many, had a lore as impressive and terrifying as this one.
The infamous headquarters for the mysterious and powerful Italian family was a sprawling residence in Westchester County.
Built on nearly two acres of land, it was not only a masterpiece but a legacy.
Yet another one to fear as well as appreciate.
This wasn’t my first time entering the secluded property and passing the security personnel at the custom electric gate. I’d spent plenty of time here with Capri, even Siena, who had liked to play the role of martyr, saying she was the third wheel when, in reality, she was another friendly face.
Sadly, that didn’t change the fact that it was a house of horrors.
Comfort wasn’t something that enveloped you within the walls of the mansion.
It was spacious with more than seven bedrooms and bathrooms, exquisite grounds with an Italian-style garden, everything having been imported from their country of origin, and a driveway that was the size of my house growing up.
Although, factually speaking, I’d previously been informed it could hold up to fifteen cars.
Except I had it on good authority that neither Santo nor Cecilia frequented the driver’s seat, each having their own drivers and town cars.
The maddening way this place was like a funhouse of mirrors aside, I had a responsibility to make an appearance at Sunday night dinner and present myself as Marco’s soon-to-be wife.
For any other family, Sunday night dinner would have held a more personal meaning, a lovely way to start a new week.
While that was what outsiders knew it as, anyone who had ever had the displeasure of gracing this dining room table knew otherwise.
There was an understanding that even as adults, the children would show up so they remained a consistent presence in their lives.
In a different setting than the corporate offices.
Because not every Sunday night dinner was mandatory, many of their children didn’t come. I happened to know Marco made it his mission to skip a majority of them. My best assumption was he saw his absence as a way to get away from Santo’s blustering.
Unfortunately, with eyes on this place, it was good for public perception that we arrived together and left together, only after it was well into the evening.
Running a hand over my décolletage, I thought fondly of the ruby and diamond-clustered serpent head I had chosen to coil around my neck. It was my way of tying Marco’s choice of a maroon button-down shirt into my look while accenting the white plaid short-sleeve cardigan and maxi skirt I’d worn.
There wasn’t much else to do since antipasti was being served.
Naturally, they had staff, culinary geniuses, who would cook for them every other day of the week.
Not Sunday evening, though. It was the exception, leaving the tedious task of cooking for and feeding a multitude of people to Cecilia.
However, she wasn’t alone in it tonight.
Santo’s older sister, Zia3 Mary, had assisted, even staying to enjoy the fruits of her labor.
Every sound, even the faintest of noises, was amplified in the silence as if I was taking in an opera caught between booming arias.
No one dared to shatter it either, putting us all out of our misery.
Rather, it continued as platters of various meats and cheeses, olives, roasted red peppers, stuffed artichokes, and toasted bread made its way onto the solid walnut table.
Marco tensed, his sculpted arm wrapped around the back of my chair as his hand rested on my shoulder.
The only move he had made since we had sat down was volleying his gaze up, shooting it straight at Santo, who looked every bit the venomous creature he had a reputation of being.
Donning a black and gray plaid suit, he stewed, his bushy eyebrows drawn together as his dark eyes roamed slowly around the table.
Siena was on my other side, so he looked at her closely, following Marco and myself.
Siena had more complexity to her than Capri.
She was wildly driven by others’ actions.
Their betrayal. Their devotion. Their loyalty.
Being protective of those she considered her inner circle was practically second nature to her.
Although it wasn’t without its downside.
Oftentimes, it led her to make decisions she otherwise wouldn’t have made, all in the name of love.
If I didn’t know any better, I would have said she could feel his eyes on her and was purposefully staring away. She remained still, her hands in the lap of her white leather plunge jumpsuit.
Dario scooted his chair back, buttoning his black suit jacket, as he made a scene.
“Well, I’ve had about enough of this mourning session,” he exclaimed, causing everyone’s gazes to wander toward him.
Part of me wondered if that was what he wanted all along.
He had a tendency to ensure his presence was known and remembered, whether for good or bad reasons.
He wore rings on practically all of his fingers, a silver skull on his middle finger captivating me the most. “That is what this was intended to be, right? A wake?” A low and dark chuckle escaped him as he mindlessly rapped his knuckles on the table.
“This is not the time,” Vito growled, clenching his hands together on top of the table, his elbows leaning against it improperly. He glowered, his eyes narrowing to something thinner than slits. “Sit down and stop making a fool of yourself.”
Surprisingly, there was an empty chair beside Vito.
Of course, it was assumed Lisa Marie would have been joining us.
Perhaps she had been tied up with something else or had a prior commitment she couldn’t get out of.
I wasn’t na?ve about the predicaments in their marriage.
They had been going through a rough patch for a while.
Frankly, I thought it was more than that.
Not that either one of them would confess to it or seek assistance from a counselor.
They were both private, and Vito wouldn’t have made a step that could potentially hurt the bottom line of the company.
One day, it would be his, or at least that was the belief.
Sucking off the breadcrumbs of an artichoke leaf, Rocco grumbled something under his breath.
When he swallowed, though, he tossed the leaf off to the side and said what was on his mind.
“If this is a wake, dare I say the tone would be a lot lighter, more casual, while paying respect to the departed, of course.”
Cecilia stepped into the room, her hands in front of her as she approached Maria, coming between her and Dom’s chairs.
They were on the opposite side of the table, next to Rocco, so I didn’t catch what Cecilia whispered to Maria.
My gut told me it had something to do with the kids, considering they were sound asleep in one of the rooms.
Grinning sardonically, Dario snagged a piece of bread and tore it apart with his hands before dipping it in olive oil. “Fine. Let’s talk about Vegas.”
“We do not eat standing up in this family,” Zia Mary said, coming out of the kitchen with the last of the food. These platters were filled with…with…
Leaning into Marco, I hardly got my mouth open to ask the question before he jumped in and answered it, probably reading my puzzled expression as I stared down the platters. “Breaded eggplant slices.”
Dario held up his hands in mock surrender before appeasing Zia Mary.
“Vegas?” Rocco questioned, snickering as he leaned back, cracking his knuckles on his left hand, which was covered in tattoos. “You sure you don’t want to wait until Mass is around to talk about that?”
I didn’t know much about Rocco and knew even less about Massimo. All I had certainty about was how the same way Lorenzo favored Europe, flitting there on a whim, Massimo did the same with Vegas, and Rocco with a boxing ring.
Cecilia finally sat down, joining us, after clutching rosaries and murmuring something softly to herself.
She placed them on the table beside her plate and cleared her throat, reaching her hand over to Santo.
“We will fill in everyone else later, but your father is going to Vegas, and we’ve decided we’re making it a family trip.
” There was a throaty cadence to her words that always had me stopping to listen closely.
This time wasn’t any different. Of particular interest to me was her use of the words we’ve decided.
I had a feeling she decided, and Santo had to go along with it for the sake of his marriage.
“You ever play craps?” Marco asked, his eyes transfixed on Santo, like they were caught in some ridiculous game of minds. However, I knew he was directing his words at me. “My father has a special fondness for betting on outcomes, so he can teach you all about the game. Isn’t that right?”
This was about much more than a casino game, so I stayed silent. Not because I didn’t have anything to contribute, but because if this were me, I would have wanted the chance to use my own sword to win the battle.
Elio hacked loudly, his hand coming down as he used his knife to thump the table.
“Basta!”4 he roared, a command everyone listened to as silence fell upon us again, this time along with a pause in movement.
“I won’t hear any more of this when there are important matters to be discussed. Ones that affect us all.”
“Business can and will be talked about another time,” Cecilia said, her voice stern, like she wasn’t asking, rather expecting everyone to obey. Meanwhile, she hadn’t lifted her head up from the roasted peppers she was delicately cutting.