Page 66 of A Love Most Fatal

There’s peace and murmurs of delight at the food, and for about six minutes, I think we just might be able to get through dinner without more incident, but then Ronaldo must speak.

“How is the Washington Street building going?” Ronaldo asks.

It’s a trick question. He knows how it is: horrible.

“Moving right along,” I say after taking a sip of water. No wine tonight, I need all my faculties to deal with them without shooting someone.

“Nice to hear after so many setbacks,” Lisa says.

The Washington Street development was hit hard by unforeseen circumstances with the site, first asbestos in the demolition, and then a hundred grand later, the prospectors discovered a water deposit. Amid dealing with this, one of our employees unearthed human remains on the property. The bones were a century old and not our fault, but they became our problem when we had to comply with a three-week investigation. Any one of these issues would be a setback, but all three? Logistical nightmare.

“All in a day’s work for construction. It teaches us to be agile,” I say. Please let that be the end of it, please let that?—

“Agile? Or too precious,” Ronaldo says. Mary goes still next to me; I would guess she’s thinking of how she might kill him right now just to get it over with.

“How do you mean?” Nate asks.

The rest of us know exactly how he means.

“Well, you know how it is for some. Wanting everything to be perfect,” Ronaldo says. He means women. “In this business, not everything needs to be exactly by the book.”

“It’s all about getting a faster return on investment,” Ryan says.

“Exactly.” Ronaldo sounds like a proud uncle as at least someone sees some sense. “Doesn’t look good for the company when things don’t move on a schedule.”

“Looks worse if the building crumbles later due to shoddy craftsmanship and cut corners.” I manage to say this with a semblance of a smile, my lips upturned at least. He wants a reaction from me, wants me to feel like an emotional woman to make a point to his nephews that he is stronger, smarter, more composed than the person who makes it possible for him to have food on his table.

“What does the project need to be perfect for?” Ronaldo asks, then turns to James at his left. “Women, see, victims to perfectionism.”

I fill my lungs with air as not to react. Their whole family gets on my last nerve, but some of the old heads do listen to him.

There are politics at play here, different from the ones my dad had to deal with, but he prepared me for that. Prepared me to hold my tongue when I need to and retaliate in quiet. But, once again, I really, really wish he was here.

I’ve not once let myself be a victim—to do so would be a victory to the men who’d like me to be weaker than them.

“Better projects beget more, bigger projects. And bigger projects line your pockets, Ronaldo. Those projects let youbuild your wife your beautiful home and send your nephews to college,” I say. I’m pleasant, but there is a warning there. “Reputation is not something I take lightly.”

“I’m just saying that perhaps you wouldn’t be having loyalty troubles if you moved faster.”

Lisa puts down her fork with a loud clack and it’s the only sound that fills the balloon of silence since he spoke. Both of his nephews shift in their seats, stupid, but never stupid enough to talk to me the way this man has. I hurt his ego two months ago and he’s not one to let that go.

“It would take a fool to willfully ignore the results of her attention to detail,” Nate says, surprising us all. Ronaldo’s eyes snap to him. “Sure, there’s short term returns, but the year-over-year ROI is astounding and has seen exponential growth with Vanessa at the helm. Maybe a little care for detail was needed to push the company to the next level.”

I don’t know how Nate knows what he does about our financials, maybe he’s searched into our public record and tax filing, but he’s right. Things have grown, and my sisters and I have made that happen.

“And the family has never been bigger,Uncle,” Mary says, though the title sounds more like a poison than a display of respect.

“I didn’t realize you were questioning your own loyalty,” I say and purse my lips.

“I didn’t say that?—”

My mother cuts him off. “I thought you must be happy! What, with your new cars and helping pay the down payment on little Ryan’s house. Such a good boy he is, too. But if you believe you could do better, Vanessa would love to hear it, I’m sure.”

The look on his face is priceless. He’s been caught now; it would be impossible for him to pretend any respect for me aftersaying in no unclear terms that I wasn’t up for the job. But what did he think was going to happen?

Everyone is quiet waiting for his response. After a moment he lowers his head. His old, bitter face is flushed red, frown lines on full display.

“Ronaldo, I must be clear,” I wait until his eyes meet mine to continue, “this is the second time in as many months you have come into my home with derision and disrespect. My father was fond of you, and because of this, we tolerate you. But you know full well that if he was here, watching you disrespect his legacy, in the home he built with his own hands, he would shoot you where you sit. Uncle.” I add this last part as a reminder. He is where he is because I allow him to be.

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