1. — when problems are piling. #2
Sal figured it came down to blood and loyalty for the boss and the capo. That was why the one man made his way to New York to still pay his dues and the other man in the equation didn’t allow his stupid son to call the shots whenever he wanted.
Yeah, blood and loyalty counted for a lot. But that could always change, too.
“Enough of Christiano,” Giorgio said, drawing in a hard gust of air after the words slipped out.
Salvatore instantly gave his attention back to the man at the center of the room. “Did you not call me at two in the morning three weeks ago and demand I drop everything for this?”
Giorgio didn’t blink. “We have another problem.”
“No. No more problems, boss. I need one week. One week,” Sal stressed, staring the man dead in the face and daring him to say something different.
“I haven’t sat down for a proper dinner at my own table in a month.
I haven’t seen my daughter in three weeks.
I’ve been across the country for the last two.
Allow me a little peace before we jump into something new.
You can’t, you will not, convince me there is something bigger or worse than Christiano that it cannot be handled in time, or by someone else. Do me that solid, okay?”
“Now, Sal,” the boss started to say.
Salvatore jumped in fast to shut it all down. “No, I’m serious. This is an important year for Frankie. She’s graduating in three months. She’s going to be eighteen in two. I didn’t see her race once last year. Do you know how many soccer games I missed of hers in the last few months?”
“About the same amount as last. And the ones before that.”
“I won’t get more,” Sal shot back. “This is it, and then she’s off to university before I know what’s even happened.
God knows she’s probably going to try her damnedest to get the hell of out New York after the gap year she promised me to take.
Do you know how much work it took me to get her to promise me that year? ”
“No, I don’t.”
A custom Phantom Rolls, and a Hermès bag, on top of a penthouse apartment in Manhattan that would be paid for and kept maintained for future use. No, he wouldn’t have her at home, but at least she wouldn’t be in an entirely different state. For a single year.
“And you don’t care to,” Sal replied hotly.
It was the truth.
The boss didn’t deny it.
Giorgio shrugged indifferently. “We all make sacrifices, though.”
At that remark, Marco made himself known again by snorting while still glowering out the window. Whatever seemed so interesting beyond the glass, Salvatore couldn’t imagine, but he wished the arrogant, irritating son-of-a-bitch would jump straight out of it at any time.
“Even,” the boss drawled sharply, glancing at his eldest, “our sons and daughters.”
Marco’s eyes rolled.
“Marco,” Giorgio said, “take a walk.”
“Papa—”
Giorgio laughed bitingly, and even Sal cocked an eyebrow at hearing Marco call his father anything but dad or boss. Sometimes the young man got away with a first name. Papa, though...he reserved that for the basest of manipulation. Everyone knew it, too.
“Get the hell outta my face, son.”
Marco didn’t need to be told again and exited the office without a glance back.
He didn’t hide his displeasure about the anger stiffening his steps and the expression on his face as he left.
Giorgio waited until the door latched closed before his focus shifted back to Salvatore.
Somehow, with that one dead stare, Sal knew...
He just knew.
It was bad for the boss. The problem in question. He could count on one hand the number of things it could possibly be, and knowing them sent alarms ringing in Sal’s head.
“Did Marco start—”
“It’s not Marco.” Then, his lips pulled sideways in a half-frown before the boss added, “Yet.”
“Your wife?”
A Russian connected woman, Giorgio’s wife of eleven years, and the only mother his youngest two children had ever known, built her entire personality around three things: being cold, calculating, and beautiful.
Sal didn’t trust or care for the woman much, but that wasn’t his job at the end of the day.
He did respect her, though. She slept beside a monster, knew it, and somehow remained. That counted for something.
A beat of quiet pause passed between the two men before the boss delivered the final blow to Sal’s carefully maintained steadfast attitude.
“It’s Nico.”
“Again?”
“Sal—”
“The fuck did he do this time? Isn’t he in Miami?”
“He’s been permanently expelled for an incident at a frat party,” Giorgio said, his attention rapt on his desk instead of Salvatore. “Or house, I don’t know. That’s not important here.”
“I’d love to know what is!”
“He’ll be arriving at six tonight. And I expect you to meet him at the airport.
I have too much going on to handle his nonsense.
You know the second he’s back in New York he’ll run straight into whatever crew he can reach and get his hands into the first scheme he can.
Then, we’ll have Marco in an absolute fit every fucking time I turn around. ”
“What are you really trying to say?” Sal asked, words coming out slow and steady. Not at all like his heartbeat.
Giorgio didn’t reply right away.
Sal was not having that nonsense. Not now.
Whatever shit the boss wanted him to step in, the man better be damn ready to own it.
“He’s your son. Just like Marco is your fucking problem, Giorgio.
This mess between them started a long time ago, and you know it.
I don’t know if you get a kick out of it all or what, but you’re not going to make me the babysitter to your nineteen-year-old problem child.
Need I remind you that the last time I sat down and had a proper conversation with that young man, he was ten, had two black eyes, and there was still dried blood on the side of his mouth.
You didn’t even apologize to him for that night. ”
“Sal...”