Page 18 of Bitter Poetry
Legacy. This is what all this is about, building an empire and holding on to it. My father certainly did his share of legacy positioning before he passed away. Like Cedro, I sense his legacy plans are about to take a hit.
“And what is that?” I hedge.
“That I shouldn’t trust him.”
“Your assumption is correct.”
He sighs. “Your engagement to Carmela was never announced.”
“No,” I agree.
“You’re a good advisor, Dante. I told Ettore as much.”
I keep my expression neutral. I told myself I was ready for what was brewing, but the truth is, it still feels like a kick in the gut.
“She needs protection—stability. You can’t give her that.”
“And Ettore can,” I surmise, offering him that small courtesy of not needing to spell it out because I know this can’t be fucking easy for him, either, especially not today.
“Yes,” he says, his voice steady even if the faint shake of his hands betrays him. “I don’t entirely trust him either. But I’m trapped in a goddamn wheelchair, and I trust our enemies less. You’re twenty-nine, Dante. I’ve often thought of you as the son I never had. But you’re not old enough to run the family. My word only goes so far, and you won’t get the support. At first, maybe, but the plays will soon begin. Ettore is a strong successor. He’ll be good to Carmela. Take care of her. With you at his side.”
“Have you told him this?”
“Yes, this morning.”
It’s done then. This conversation is merely a formality. There will be a few ripples and private conversations, but then the capos will settle down.
Ettore has won.
For now.
If this is hard for me, it must be equally so for Cedro. He has just handed his daughter off to the man who, if my instincts are correct, indirectly put him in a wheelchair and killed his wife. Cedro can be ruthless when he needs to be, but in this, he has lost his way. He’s grieving. His judgment is skewed, and he willfully avoids the glaring truth.
“What if evidence is uncovered later indicating that Ettore was behind it.” No point in skirting facts anymore. Life is about to change for all of us come tomorrow.
His sharp eyes bore into me.
“You say you don’t entirely trust him,” I continue. “But you’re giving him your daughter so you must trust him so far.”
I don’t look away.
Neither does he.
“Then with my dying breath, I will make him pay.”
“Good.”
I want to tell him to channel that damn fire now. I’m not a man who gets his hands dirty. I’m a firm believer that, in this world, you leave the soldiering to the soldiers. But I swear to fucking God, I would have personally put a bullet in Ettore’s smug face already were I in Cedro’s shoes.
I questioned whether I wanted to be married, whether I was ready, whether the punch to the gut I feel is merely bitterness in losing her to Ettore.
She’s marrying someone else.
I’ve never thought of myself as particularly possessive, but Carmela Accardi was destined to be my wife and I’m feeling pretty fucking territorial right now. In three weeks, she’ll be eighteen. The date is marked on my calendar. I have a present already picked out—one she will now never get, and one that would be highly inappropriate for her to receive, given that she’s marrying another man.
Except the gift and my duties as a fiancé never lingered in my mind whenever I looked at that date. No, it was the anticipation of allowing myself to see her as a woman.
My cell vibrates from the inside pocket of my jacket, and I glance down at my watch. “We need to leave.”
