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Mikey put his hands on my shoulders, stopping me. “You okay?”
“No, but I will be. We’ve dealt with worse, right?” When our parents died and both of us were thrust into owning a winery business.
“Yes, we have. Listen, I’m going to skip lunch and go to a meeting. But I’ll be back in time to sit down with you and Carlo.”
“Okay. I’m proud of you, bro.”
He pulled me in for a hug. “And I’m proud of you, sis. We’ll get through this together, I promise.”
“Thanks, Mikey. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“You’d have to learn accounting, for starters.”
I eased away from him and started for the door. “You know I break out in hives when I see a spreadsheet.”
He followed me into the hallway and down the steps. “Hey, you almost had a boyfriend. I think you can be taught about pivot tables.”
“Knock it off about the boyfriend—or I won’t save you any chicken pot pie.”
Mikey just laughed as he sauntered out the front door.
Vito
Chaos filled the compound.
I was in my office, trying to revise some security details for tomorrow’s funeral, while the house was filled with families of all ages. Loud people named D’Agostino, Ravazzani, and Buscetta were every which way I turned. They’d arrived overthe last two days from Paris, Siderno, Palermo, Napoli . . . and everyone was staying here because this was the safest spot in Toronto.
I wasn’t sleeping or eating, mostly smoking as I reviewed the plans again and again, making sure I hadn’t missed something. All I wanted was peace and quiet, but there was none to be found.
Roberto Mancini had served a long time in the ’Ndrangheta and was due a tribute, which fell as my responsibility. So there wasn’t any part of the upcoming weekend without my fingerprints on it. A lot of eyes would be on me and my city. Everything needed to be perfect.
At least concentrating on the funeral distracted me from everything else.
“Your version of a future is repulsive to me.”
I rubbed my eyes. Four days and those words still stung. It would get better when I could sleep. When the house wasn’t full of nieces and nephews, brothers and babies and rival mob bosses.
Thirsty, I reached for my glass on the desk, only to find it empty. Pushing back from my desk, I stretched my sore muscles and decided to go to the kitchen for a drink.
As I walked through the mansion, I could hear my teenage nephew arguing with the much-younger Rafaelle Ravazzani over some video game. A small child wailed somewhere on the second floor.
In the kitchen a lot of people were gathered around the massive island, their conversation hushed. Fausto Ravazzani held his sleeping seven-month-old daughter on his shoulder. Fausto’s other daughter, Noemi, was lightly touching her baby sister’s forehead, a look of wonder on her face, but when she saw me, she moved closer to her mother, Frankie, who was busy at the microwave.
At the other end of the kitchen island, Emma Mancini Buscetta cradled her napping daughter in her arms while flipping through what looked like a medical textbook. Nicoletta, my niece, had her arm around Gia Mancini’s shoulders and the two of them were looking at something on a tablet.
Frankie glanced over at me. “Hey, Vito.”
“Ciao.”
I started for the refrigerator when Fausto asked, “How are the arrangements coming?”
“Secure. Everything is ready.”
“Enzo wants to see you,” Gia said, looking over at me. “He said to send you to the library when you resurfaced.”
I sighed and took some sparkling water from the fridge. I didn’t want to deal with Enzo, but he was still my brother. Was this about security? He’d been up my ass the past two days about having enough guards.
In the library Enzo and Giacomo Buscetta were smoking cigars and chuckling over something. “Glad someone is having fun,” I muttered and lowered myself into a chair.