Page 65 of The Crowned Garza
Like an idiot, I just bounce on my feet. Then give a tiny wave. Then offer my hand. “Oh, sorry, nice to meet you.”
Taking my hand, Iseppa’s smirk deepens. “Oh, trust me, likewise.”
Hmm. She seems to know something I don’t.
Her expression sobers when she brings her attention back to Saint. “How were the meets?”
“As you might imagine. Let’s walk.”
This is where I’m usually excluded, so I turn to get back into the car, but Saint captures my hand and tugs me to his side, taking me along with them down a path of trees.
Their conversation is intense. And even though most of it goes right over my head, it’s the kind of discussion I don’t feel I should be here for. Saint occasionally switches to Italian; to block me out of specific information, I suspect.
From what little I understand, many aren’t pleased about Iseppa being appointed as interim donna. Iseppa’s suggested approach to this pushback is to make example-setting “cleanups.” Which I’ve taken to mean “kill everyone who opposes me.”
Saint’s suggested approaches are more tactical, psychological. One of those is to employ a “starve-out” method. Being the “benefactor” means all funds flow directly from him. Where the money is, the power lies.
That’s the route I would take, too. It’s disciplinary in a clean and systematized manner.
They go back and forth on various matters. For a long time. That I’m starting to wish I’d worn sneakers.
By the end, I’ve deduced that while Saint is painstakingly patient, calculated, logical, and thinks long-term, Iseppa is blood-hungry, power-greedy, impulsive, and shortsighted.
The longer I listen to her, the more disconcerted I become by her.
In my opinion, putting her at the helm doesnotseem like a wise idea.
But what do I know about mafia affairs?
~
WHEN WE’RE FINALLYback at the large tree where the cars are parked, Iseppa lobs me another smirk before she gets in her car and leaves.
Saint releases my hand and heads around to the driver’s side of the vehicle. Cool air brushes my palm and I pause, looking down at my hand. He’d held my hand the entire time with Iseppa. With the pressure of his grasp now gone, it feels as if he’d been holdingonto me, not just holding my hand. As though he needed me. As though he trustedmemore than he trusted Iseppa.
Might she have hurt him in the past, or as a child? Am I right to feel uneasy about her?
Maybe I’m just overthinking it. Inflating my sense of importance. Saint doesn’t seem the kind toneedanyone.
I get in the car.
As we’re leaving the property, I notice the words welded into the tall wrought-iron gates that I missed on the way in. Luciani Meadows.
“Wait, this isyourfarm? Or your family’s...or however it works?”
“Yes.”
Wow. Is this the same man who takes orders from my brothers all day long? A man who has “Hands.” A man who’s greeted with deference and has subjects who move at his command.
It’s all so strange.Howhas he been able to pull off living two separate lives undetected all this time? To wear two different faces, be two different people?
“Are you rich?”
As soon as the question leaves me, I realize how stupid it sounds. Of course he’s rich. He earns a ton at Red Cage, and millions from his shares in RedWatch, a cyber-security software he developed that catapulted Red Cage to becoming a billion-dollar company. But I trust he knows what I mean.
“It’s complicated,” he replies.
Your entire life seems to be.
