Page 2 of Loss and Damages
“There has to be some kind of mistake.” My voice sounds hoarse.
My father, the great Raphael Milano, turns toward me, finally, his eyes dry, painfully stoic. “There’s no mistake. I went to the hospital this morning and identified his body. Your mother, she’s not doing well. She’s at the penthouse, sedated. He was her baby, and this won’t be easy on her.”
I ignore the jab. Cruelly, from the moment he was born, our mother favored Leo over me, and I never let it bother me. I take after my father’s side of the family. I’m proud of that and use it to my advantage. “What happened? You said a single-car accident.”
“He ran into a tree. He wasn’t wearing a seatbelt and went through the windshield. A commuter driving into the city from Hollow Lake called it in early this morning.”
I join my father at the window and look over the city of St. Charlotte. My nanny would bring me here during my father’s lunch hour and he’d pick me up, point, and say everything I could see was ours. We own half the city, and one day, after he passes on, it will belong to me. Me and Leo.
“Why was he on Highway 75?”
My father’s eyes harden. “I was hoping you could tell me.”
“I don’t know. I’ve been working on the purchase of the 1100 block.”
He nods, and for once in my life, he looks older than his years. His black eyes don’t hold the energy they once did, his greying hair is thinning, and the paunch from indulging in pasta, wine, cigars, and women is more pronounced. My mother isn’t the only one who’s suffering.
“When is the funeral?” The wake and funeral will be a long, drawn-out affair and will cause a media spectacle.
My father shakes his head. “They won’t release his body. A detective from the SCPD contacted me.”
“Why?”
“The insurance company is investigating. They want to confirm it was an...accident.”
He looks away and stares through the glass, squinting into the summer sun. He doesn’t want to say the word, and I don’t want to hear it. Leo’s been okay. I have to believe that. He was talking about inviting a date to the fundraising gala. He was seeing someone. That’s a good thing.
“Let it go and force them to release his body. We have a right to say goodbye. We don’t need the money.”
“We don’t, no, but I don’t want his reputation smeared by the press saying he was weak. If even a hint of this leaks, we’ll never be able to live it down.”
I don’t say anything. My brother’s death can be a liability or an advantage. My father wants to turn it into an advantage, spin his death so our family appears softer, more approachable. We’ve had issues in the past looking too cutthroat, but the purchase of the 1100 block isn’t going to help, even if PR can twist my brother’s death.
He slaps my back. “I’m going to check on your mother. She’s as sensitive as Leo is.” He clears his throat. “Was.”
Silently, he leaves my office, not looking back.
I sink into my chair and pick up my lukewarm coffee. My PA settles behind her desk, and I lower the shades, blocking her from view and giving me much-needed privacy.
My brother is dead. He’ll never come into the office to badger me about working too hard. We’ll never go out clubbing like we used to years ago, finessing our way into any skirt that would have us—and most would. I’ll never sit next to him at a family brunch ever again.
My baby brother.
The better one between us.
He inherited my mother’s soft.
I inherited my father’s hard.
I’m jagged glass and splinters of ice.
He was cotton candy and rays of sunshine.
I stare into space waiting for a phone call saying it was all a mistake.
The call never comes.
Chapter Two
