Chapter Sixteen
ENZO
"You know he's using me as bait to get you here." Lyndall is sitting on the porch when I get out of my car on Sunday.
"Hello to you, too."
"It's the only reason I'm allowed home from boarding school. And he's agreed to let me stay for the semester break." She sounds so bitter for someone so young.
I gaze up at the white-painted house with the beachfront views. Then I go up to her and hug her tight, kissing the top of her head.
Lyndall hugs me back like I will disappear if she fucking lets me go.
"That's Dad for you. Always playing an angle."
She wiggles free. "I'm sick of it. God, imagine if we all lived in the same vicinity at the same time, all year round. He would be unbearable. You know you don't have to come."
"'Course I do, kiddo. How else would I get to see you a little more?"
She crosses her arms, all lanky teen, as she stares at me like she can somehow read my inner thoughts.
The reason I'm still willing to do things for Dad is her, and seeing her, even as she looks into my soul, makes that sacrifice worth every moment.
Even the Sundays when she is not around, and Dad is in town, so I come to spend time with him, are worth it.
I know him. Letting him think he has the upper hand keeps the peace.
And Dad will also mention her, give me updates on whatever plans he might have down the road—plans I'm willing to do what I can to stop.
I really don't think he will marry her off when she reaches the right age. We are not that kind of family. And Gino would have words.
But I listen and then agree or haggle down whatever thing he wants me to do for him into something I will do, keeping him somewhat happy.
My biggest fear is him somehow cutting Lyndall off from me. I just don't ever want to risk it.
The rest is blowhard talk.
"He makes you come to see him to show he's the one in control." She kicks at the grass.
"No. I let him think that."
She snorts as we start toward the house where the lights glow warmly. "He wants to check in on you, see how he can control you, Enzo."
I ruffle her hair. "I'm too big and mean for that."
"I want to be too big and mean, too," she says.
"No. You're going to practice your violin and get into Juilliard." It has been her dream for years.
So, I'm a little shocked when she says, "We will see."
"Fuck, Lyndall." She turns her back and stalks to the house.
I follow. "What does that mean?"
"We will see."
Her snotty, stubborn tone makes me bite down on my response.
There is no talking to her like this. It can wait until later.
We go inside, and Dad has his over-the-top, jovial mood on.
It grates against bone and teeth.
He is planning something. At least that is how it seems.
He puts his glass down on the coffee table as he comes to me to grab me in a bear hug. Extra tight, extra strong. And I'm sure it contains all sorts of warnings that I play neutral too as I give him a hug back. "Son. You made it."
Lyndall offers her own tiny knives of offense I don't need. "Jesus, Dad. It is a drive from the Big Apple. And if you had your family in one place—"
"I'm glad you came. This way, I had Maria make another batch of lasagna."
"I only want salad."
I give her a look. "I'm sure it comes with salad."
Her eyes turn to slits. "Or just bread."
"Knowing Maria, there will be all kinds of bread. Including garlic."
"I want soup."
But Dad is an expert at ignoring her. After all, he has done it all her life. And it is like she hasn't said a word.
I set the table in the dining room as Dad goes to light up a cigar.
But Lyndall is in top form. She slaps it away, muttering something about maybe she should let him drop dead and save herself a life of misery.
I have to cough to cover the laugh.
I still offer her a hard look. "Get the drinks, Lyndall, and soda or water for you."
She does as told.
Dinner is not the most pleasant thing.
Normally, Lyndall keeps the vitriol until we are alone, like she did outside, but all through dinner, that she doesn't eat, and the dessert she turns her nose up at, my sister pretty much screams from the rooftop how unhappy she is.
"Did you know, Enzo, that I don't need to go to boarding school? The school has students who go home. And go home for weekends. It is just him."
She hooks a thumb at Dad.
He reaches for his Scotch and fills his glass. "I'm not in the same place all year. But I will be spending my time for the foreseeable future here and in Long Island."
I frown at that.
Foreseeable is different. Something is going on.
Which isn't my business.
It is the business of whichever cousin he chooses to take over.
"So—"
"You will remain at school." His phone rings, and he excuses himself.
I take the time to clear the table.
Lyndall sort of helps. "I'm only here right now because I put my foot down and threw a tantrum. It was this or get kicked out of school for bad behavior. And he wants a good college for me, so..."
"Just don't rock the boat. You will be out of this soon enough."
She hoists up on the kitchen island and swings her feet, hitting the wine fridge each time. "When? When I'm eighty."
"Eighteen."
"I have friends that I want to see. But I have to be here, and he is only here now because you are. I want to have fun. My violin teacher has to come out here or to Long Island. I want to go to Manhattan—"
"Get down. He will go apeshit."
She flicks her hair. "So? He wouldn't notice if I walked around whatever house he drags me to on my hands. He doesn't notice I'm unhappy. Worse, I doubt he cares."
"I'm sure he does." Somewhere.
"Please." She gives me a deadpan look.
I close the dishwasher drawer. "It's not for long. I promise."
"Too long. I wanted the penthouse he has in Manhattan."
Laughing, I shake my head. "Kid, you're fifteen."
"So?"
"So, we know it is a no. Fuck, I would say no."
"Asshole. Fine." She studies me, then leans forward. "Can I move in with you?"
Shit.
There is more than enough room, but it will be a cold day in hell when Dad agrees to that. But there has to be a compromise. Because if Dad is here for the foreseeable future, something might be going down, and it is no place for a teen.
"I will think about it. But you can come and stay with me on the weekend."
"But—"
"He will agree to that. The rest? We need to play carefully, and you know it."
"Fine." She pushes off the island. "I'm going to Facetime my friends."
When she is gone, I find my father in the study, still on the phone.
He motions for me to sit.
I get a drink and settle in as Dad talks.
When he hangs up, he starts talking business to me. I know the drill. I can pick out the words. Family tradition, my rightful place, responsibility.
Tuning out, I nod in the right places, pretending to listen, offering the answers that he wants without promising a thing.
When he pauses, I take the floor.
"What was the deal with you and Emilio?"
"Why do you want to know?" He grates out the words.
I give a casual shrug. "Just trying to understand business from your standpoint. The family business. You were friends, and then you weren't."
"Because the man was a lying snake. You don't question me or my authority."
One reason I couldn't work for him. Even in the Syndicate, we question things. It is the only way to get the best job done, to tease the truth from the crap when the job seems messy or too good to be true.
But I shrug. "I'm not."
Dad's eyes narrow, and he takes a gulp of his drink. "Are you in contact with Lourdes? I hear she's real pretty."
That bothers me. Not that he says that, but that he heard that.
Who the fuck is he talking to? And who else is watching her?
"No—"
"She might be a knockout and have a sweet demeanor. Or maybe she's a tiger in the sack. Don't know. Don't care. Stay the fuck away from her, Enzo. From all her family, whoever else is there."
"I thought—from memory—Emilio was all she had."
Dad slams his glass down. "Enzo... Keep the fuck away. Or there will be consequences."
My heart beats a little fast as adrenaline surges.
Is this just the hate from the fallout or something else?
"Relax, Dad. It was just a question, you know?"
But Dad eyes me with suspicion. "It's never just a question where you're concerned, my boy."
"I'm curious, is all. I was a young teen, so I don't know much about what went on between you and Emilio, other than he betrayed you."
"He did. Leave it alone."
"Dad—"
"He betrayed me in a business deal, so I did what I do. I completely ruined the rat's life." And Dad takes a seat.
My head spins.
There is more to this, I'm sure of it.
Right? There has to be.
"Let's talk about you, Enzo," Dad says, with poisoned silk in his voice. "Word on the street is you just bought out a computer tech company."
"A small startup."
"I wasn't aware the money Louie Bradley and his family has is small."
I shrug. "It's no big deal. It is just a business venture, that's all."
"I see." But Dad isn't done. "When are you going to come to your senses and get back to what's important?"
"And what's that?" I take a sip of my drink as I cross my legs on the sofa.
"Supporting me and the family."
I sigh. "Don't start." I hold up a hand to stop him from talking. "I agreed to come to dinner and future Sunday dinners when we're in the same town on the condition you wouldn't pressure me."
Dad waves his hand. "Pressure? It was just a question. You're wasting your potential."
"No. I'm realizing my potential."
I drain my drink and then stand.
"Sit, Enzo."
"I have to go, Dad."
A frown settles on his face, and if I didn't know better, I would say he is dejected as he slumps back in his seat.
He waves me on instead of trying to stop me.
And, as I go, I try not to let that expression haunt me.
The drive is long enough, so I'm happy when Silas calls.
"What up?"
"I forgot to call you earlier."
The happy feeling evaporates. "Why would you do that?"
"Don't you want to know what it is about?"
I flip the indicator and change lanes. "What's it about?"
"Lola called."
Fuck. "And you forgot? Do you need a cognitive test?"
He ignores me. "She wanted your number."
I go stiff. "She wanted my number?"
"Yeah," he says, too much amusement in his tone. "But not yours yours. She wanted Alex's number. She lost her phone, and it wasn't programmed in."
It was, as WN.
"And everything got deleted or some shit."
By me.
"Anyway. She wants you to call her. Alex you. Not you you."
Asswipe.
"Call her or text her?"
Silas, not missing a beat, says, "Maybe I will reach out to Lola. I can look shit up, and I looked shit up. She's pretty."
"Do that, and you're in big trouble."
"Well, I'm not your fucking message service. They went the way of dinosaurs."
"Calm down. Maybe you need to get laid to relieve that tension you've got going on."
Silas snorts. "Maybe I will. With Lola. After all, I could be Alex. And no issues there..."
Before I can ream him out, he hangs up, and I roll my eyes.
Slowly, it hits me.
She has been waiting for my message.
Well then, maybe I will send her one. I've got the entire drive home to think of what to say.
Yeah, I will write a message and put the poor girl out of her misery...