Page 66 of Cruelest Contract (Storm’s Eye Ranch)
JULIAN
A ny second now I’m going to pick up my plate full of congealing ravioli and fire it at the head of Angelo Grimaldi.
Honestly, he’s no more crass and irritating than usual. It just wouldn’t take much to push me over the edge tonight.
My crappy mood might be coloring my opinion but this Christmas Eve dinner feels like a tension-packed shitshow.
Over at this end of the table I’m biding my time until I can banish everyone else and take Cecilia to our bedroom.
I need to be alone with her. I need to talk to her, to make her understand what our marriage really is.
No matter how excellent Enzo’s cooking is, every bite feels like a monumental struggle. I’m unable to enjoy food or conversation or anything else until I fix this terrible divide with my wife.
Sitting at the head of the table, my father has his own way of handling angst. He concentrates on his plate, eating steadily and profusely but frequently glaring at the wall of bullet proof windows.
There’s nothing to see out there but blowing snow and encroaching darkness but he’s obviously lost in his thoughts so I guess this doesn’t matter.
Even Getty is off his game, refraining from his usual one-liners and mischief.
Fort is annoyed that he was forced to come inside for dinner when he’d rather be out running around in the blizzard.
Tye has been bumped a seat to make room for Gabe, who wanted to sit beside his twin sister.
Caleb, the kid who works in the stable, is quietly amazed just to be here, sandwiched in the midst of Sonny and his two remaining men.
As for Cecilia, she’s right next to me, picking at her food and occasionally watching me with puzzled concern.
She forks a single cheese ravioli, then drops the fork back on her plate and moves her hand under the table.
I know she’s rubbing her bad knee, as she always does when she’s troubled, and I reach for her hand.
She allows this, cooperating with my effort to lace our fingers together. I lift her hand and press my lips to the delicate underside of her wrist. Her forehead creases with surprise and this kills me, that she’s learned not to expect token gestures of affection.
“Hey, I ought to get my gun back,” Angelo declares. “If you’re not even gonna have real security around here then I shouldn’t be stuck with nothing but a fucking fork if shit goes sideways.”
Sonny has paused his conversation with his men and turns suspicious eyes toward Angelo. He searches out my father to check his response but my father is dumping grated cheese on his plate and paying zero attention to the conversation.
When Sonny looks my way, I subtly shake my head as a message we’re on the same page. There’s no fucking way Angelo Grimaldi is going to be allowed to run around here fully armed.
“Maybe you could help,” Cecilia says to Gabe. “You were always really good with computers. You might be able to figure out what’s wrong with the surveillance system.”
Gabe’s tone is apologetic. “I haven’t really kept up with my tech skills, Cici. I doubt I’d be of any help but I can try if you want.”
Fuck no to that too.
Gabriel isn’t nearly as much of a risk as Angelo but he defers to his older brother too often and can’t be trusted to go poking around in our network.
I’d hate to be in the position where I need to deal with Cecilia’s twin because he’s done something foolish and fucked us over.
If I decide to give Gabe something to do it’ll be far away from here and with minimal impact when he screws it up.
“We’ve got it under control,” I say.
Too bad Angelo’s not finished monopolizing the conversation in the most obnoxious manner possible.
“Know what?” Angelo says. “Maybe this is your Abe Lincoln moment.”
Tye, sitting directly across from him, says, “What the hell did Abe Lincoln do?”
“You know the story.” Angelo waves his fork for emphasis. “Like when Abe Lincoln crossed the Atlantic in a rowboat with all his troops while the English were busy eating Christmas dinner.”
“It was the fucking Delaware River,” Getty says with a scowl. “And it was George Washington.”
“Oh, he was there too, huh?” Angelo says.
I swear, sometimes it’s tough to tell whether he’s fucking with us or if he’s truly this stupid.
“Anyhow,” Angelo says while helping himself to half the tray of chicken parmigiana, “all those fat English generals were busy eating crumpets and shit they didn’t even notice a bunch of guys rolling up in rowboats.”
“What the fuck are crumpets?” Fort wants to know.
“They’re like fucking potato chips or whatever,” Angelo says, annoyed at having his history lesson interrupted. “So the English motherfuckers were all food drunk and totally caught by surprise.”
“We’re not English motherfuckers,” Tye points out. “We’re Italian motherfuckers.”
“Are you hinting we might get caught by surprise?” I ask Angelo.
He swallows an entire glass of red wine before answering. “You never know,” he says with a shrug. “History repeats.”
He’s just talking out of his ass. I discreetly check the gun holstered at my side just in case. The next time Gabriel comes to visit his sister he’ll need to leave the shitty older brother at home. I’m maxed out on my tolerance for Angelo Grimaldi.
Cecilia shifts in her chair and clutches her belly with a grimace. All other concerns fly right out of my head.
“What’s wrong?” I put my hands on her, my heart instantly in my throat.
But she relaxes and laughs. “Nothing. The tenants are getting a little aggressive, that’s all.”
She rubs her swollen stomach and breathes deeply, in and out. The situation appears to be under control. Babies do kick, right? She’s got two of them in there.
I struggle to name all the emotions coursing through me. They just keep piling up. I feel helpless. Humbled. Dazed. And so grateful I can hardly breathe.
Fuck, I love this girl. She owns me. If she gives me another chance to prove myself I’ll work every day to be better than I have been.
Cecilia looks up and confusion swirls in her eyes when she sees how I’m staring like a lovesick fool. “Here,” she says and places my palm on her belly. “They’re just active. Everything is fine.”
She misunderstands me. She thinks my only concern is for the pregnancy. Of course this is a constant worry. But there’s so much more running through my mind and I need to say it all to her.
Gabe leans over to watch his sister and I see real concern on his face. It makes me dislike the guy a little less.
A thump beneath my palm is quickly followed by another one.
Our sons, asserting themselves. Their mother, feeling every insistent kick, smiles down at her belly.
Her hair flows long past her shoulders in glorious waves.
She wears little makeup and I’ve always appreciated the natural glow of her skin with the smattering of reddish freckles that can’t be seen unless I get really close.
“Cecilia.” I speak my wife’s name like a prayer.
Elsewhere, Angelo is pushing everyone’s buttons with more of his bullshit. Getty roars at him to shut up or lose his tongue.
I don’t care if it’s bad manners for us to leave Christmas Eve dinner early. We’re leaving anyway.
But before I can say another word to my wife, a thunderous explosion rattles the walls and shakes the dishes.
Someone who didn’t know better might believe it’s an earthquake but I know it’s not.
I react instantly, dropping out of the chair and taking Cecilia to the floor with me.
I cover her body with mine, just as I’ve done before.
The other men in the room have no one to protect. They are bolder about going to the windows. There’s plenty of cursing but no shooting, and no sign that the house itself has been breached.
Slowly, I lift my head and see a ball of fire lighting up the night. It’s not too close but close enough. Definitely one of the ranch outbuildings.
My father is already on his way to access the safe behind the bookcase. We keep it filled with loaded weapons and bullet proof vests. Nobody will argue this explosion could be an accident. Buildings don’t spontaneously combust, especially not with the entire security network strangely inaccessible.
Sonny was right to caution against coincidences.
I should have been better prepared.