1. Milan #2
Logically, this did not make sense.
Souls were not a part of the human cavity.
They did not exist, and a house could not be reminiscent of one’s actions, but I believed she had attempted to convey her internal emotional distress this way.
Though I could not easily identify the emotions she had possessed, I knew that my father had caused her severe emotional disruption with his darkened soul.
I also knew the same soul existed within me, and that was why she was dead. That was why my sister, Siena, had gone with her.
I recognized their absences often. It resulted in inefficient sleeping patterns and the same pain in my chest that I experienced as I sat on the edge of my mother’s cream quilt.
It held the same softness that it had ten years ago, but it did not appear as white as it had before her death.
This fact was logical because time aged things, but my mind did not always agree that it should be logical or that I should think of her as often as I did.
This confused me greatly.
As I lowered my head onto her pillow, muffling the sound of the party below me, large, thumping footsteps stomped toward the door.
I did not need to lift my head to know those steps belonged to Adriano.
He had lived in my house for over ten years, and though his mannerisms had not changed, they had simply become louder with his adulthood… and muscle.
“Ah,” he exhaled, his breathlessness resulting from his apparent sprint up the stairs. “I thought I might find you hiding in here.”
“I am not hidden.” I sat upright. “I am sitting in plain sight. You did not have to search for me.”
Adriano stepped closer, sitting beside me with an audible groan of effort.
“It’s a figure of speech…” He narrowed his eyes at my face like he always did during our conversations and shook his head with a small smile.
I concluded he must have seen my confusion because he continued, “Never mind. Why are you in here?”
I did not possess the answer or the means to discuss Adriano’s question, but my words came freely anyway.
“I did not have wet socks at my mother and Siena’s funeral.
It was not a requirement to unnecessarily stand outside, or to throw large handfuls of earth at their coffins, or to invite the entire Famiglia into my home and provide alcoholic beverages and lunch—”
“Calm down.” His voice was stabilizing, and I did not find his hands clasping mine preferable until my muscles began to halt and I realized I was wringing my hands again. “Their funerals were different. Mattea and Siena were not Dons, and Siena was a child.”
His logic was faultless as usual, but his face hung toward the floor. His shoulders had become tense, his breathing steady but fast.
He was experiencing discomfort. This was unacceptable.
I straightened my spine as I stood, analyzing Adriano’s evidence of emotional dysregulation as I stated, “It was dissatisfactory that my father expected his Famiglia to obey a Don that chose to hurt women and children.”
His eyebrows lowered, arching closer together as a sign of confusion. I had that effect on people often, even Adriano occasionally. “Okay,” he replied slowly, drawing out his words. “You aren’t anything like your father, though, and you won’t lead like him.”
That was extremely true.
“Perhaps not, but a certain level of…cruelty is expected so that I am not perceived as weak. This is impractical as I do not intend to be as cruel as the current Dons. They harm women and children, and I am expected to be their equal.”
My pupils focused on Adriano’s. They were wide, like they had been when he had opened the ribboned box containing the gold watch he now wore.
I had mistaken this with fear at the time, which he had informed me was incorrect.
I had adjusted my assumptions and now understood this as surprise.
I paused, unable to coherently form a response to this emotion.
“Were you under the assumption that I would cause harm to innocent beings?”
“Fuck no!” he said suddenly, and my eyes temporarily tightened at this loud ejaculation of disagreement. “I just don’t know where you’re going with this.”
The crude word ‘fuck’ sat firmly at the top of my internal list of expressions to never use, but it was Adriano’s preferred use of vocabulary. If it had not come from Adriano, I would have found this unjustifiable, but he was my brother in all but blood, and I could allow it occasionally from him.
“I am suggesting an alliance of several organizations formed by me as the Capo dei Capi, not a Don. In this new reign, I would unite the five New York families and Chicago for the first time in Famiglia history.” I pulled on my tie as I spoke, aware that if my hands touched, they would wring as Adriano did not like.
It was damp like my socks.
Adriano stood slowly. It appeared as though he would try to tame a rabid animal with his inefficient speed. “Milan.” His throat sounded tense as he spoke. “This is not just a project. This will change history. You would own everything.”
“That is what I said, was it not?”
His fingers pulled on his wet hair. “This is insanity. Why would you want this? You don’t even want to be Don!”
“Because I am not defective. I can save people this time.” He reached forward to stop my hands from touching while I continued, “It is preferable that I lead to ensure that the women and children are protected. I will not allow harm to come to any more mothers and sisters or brothers.” My chest began to ache as my head bowed.
“And I will never again be reduced to the actions I was once forced to complete. I am not defective.” I nodded once, confirming the plan to my internal systems. “I will proceed with the Gioffre Don first; he is the least disagreeable of the New York families, and I am certain he would welcome my leadership.”
Silence stretched between us. It was excessively uncomfortable.
I looked at Adriano, attempting to diagnose his face. It held a frown that caused many lines on his forehead, and that led me to believe he was concerned.
“Their deaths were not your fault.”
I did not correct him, instead choosing to pull away and state, “My socks are exceptionally wet. I believe my hair is also waterlogged.”
His frown became a small smile within a few short seconds—one paired with a small eye roll. “Let’s go change your socks then, asshole.”