Page 7 of Veiled Vows

“And that’s not all.”

Alto, who sits across the table from me, chokes on his water. “There’s more?”

I glance smugly at him. “There’s always more.”

“What is it?” Santino holds out his hand expectantly.

“I found out where they’re getting their ammo made for so cheap.” Unfurling another sheet of paper, I make a show of smoothing it out to give Alto the full effect of how much better I am than him. Then I slide it across to Father. “They’ve hired a small collection of German armorers who recently arrived in the States and set up shop just outside New York. They’re pretty well hidden in some old apocalyptic bunker Enzo purchased eighteen months ago at a military auction. He covered his tracks pretty well, but he needs to invest in better guards. Ones who can hold their liquor.”

Santino’s face lights up with greedy glee as he reads the details scrawled across the paper, then it bunches under his fist as we lock eyes. “I want that bunker.”

“Our men are raiding it as we speak.”

“Good,” Santino says fiercely. “This isfantasticwork, Roman.”

My father’s praise is made all the sweeter by Alto glaring daggers across the table at me, and he doesn’t even try to hide it this time. Ever since we were introduced, I knew Alto was going to be a problem. Not only do I have to work tooth and nail to prove myself to a father who didn’t know I existed until I was nineteen, but I have to fight to overshadow the one person who stands between me and inheriting this grand family.

Alto.

It’s not difficult, thankfully. His work effort pales in comparison to mine, and each victory I bring to the table often highlights Alto’s inadequacies. As it should.

The guy is an asshole.

“Alto?” Santino gathers the papers and folds them neatly. “Where is your report?”

The anger fades instantly from Alto’s eyes as he regards our father with the same sheepish look he always wears whenfollowing in my footsteps. “I have nothing to report, Dad. I’m still waiting on a few things.”

“How…disappointing.” Santino clicks his tongue against his teeth. “Tell me, whatexactlyis it you do again? Because it seems like you are just sitting on your ass while your brother is bringing merealresults.”

“Half brother,” Alto mutters, shooting me a glare. “Father, what I have in the works will blow the Falzone family wide open, I assure you.”

“Assurances don’t bring me victory,” Santino replies. “Results do. Speaking of which, Roman?”

“Yes, Father.”

“You will attend the Mancini’s Gala.”

“What?!” Alto and I exclaim in unison, with extremely different tones. Alto is angered and shocked, while I am surprised and grateful. To attend a Mancini party is tobesomeone. Every invitation is personal and mandatory, and if you’re lucky to beallowedto attend, it means you have worth. They send invitations to each family that holds some kind of status, and it’s within the family’s interests to send people of the highest standing. Typically, only my father and Alto attend, leaving me to work even harder to gain the recognition I deserve. Work that’s finally paid off.

“Don’t look so surprised,” Santino says calmly. “You’ve brought this family forward in leaps and bounds this past year, which is more than can be said for you.” He shoots Alto a displeased look. “I want to put on the strongest front, and I can do that with both my sons at my side.”

“I’m coming too?” Alto begs for clarification.”

“Yes,” Santino replies, slightly irritated. “But only because I do not want to be questioned about where you are and why I’ve chosen not to bring you. But let me be very,veryclear.” Rising out of his seat, Santino points one long finger at Alto. “You areon very thin ice. I do not have the patience to wait an eternity for your results.”

Alto nods, even as the nerves under his ear jump with his restrained anger. I make it worse by sighing loudly and smirking when he looks my way. Santino walks out shortly after, leaving my brother and I to pack away the reports we’ve spent the past two hours poring over.

“I don’t know what the fuck you are up to,” Alto growls between clenched teeth. “But you better watch your fucking step.”

“Is that a threat?” Despite not looking at him while I pack the folders back into their boxes, I keep my attention on him in my peripheral.

“Of course it’s a fucking threat,” he snarls. “Are you so thick that you need it spelled out for you?”

“Maybe you need to work on wording things better. Beating around the bush gets you nowhere, Alto. Is that what you’ve spent these past months doing?” I straighten up and snap the box closed. “No wonder Father is so disappointed in you.”

“You little fucker.” Alto attempts to surge over the table and grab me, but I sidestep him smoothly. “Don’t forget who the firstborn is, you little fuck. I’m the son he actually wanted. You’re just some fucking Japanese half blood that he took in out of pity because your whore of a mother died. You’re nothing, you hear me?!”

The years working for this family and scraping myself up from the dirt have taught me the importance of patience, but it takes every ounce of my strength to stop myself from leaping over the table and bashing Alto’s head in with a nearby vase. Each threat ignites a painful rage in my chest that I swallow down, but his words about my mother cut like blades.

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