Page 24 of Vicious Behaviors

“And whose grandchildren are you referring to? Jude and Mina don’t seem to be in a rush. Lucky and Frankie haven’t even finished high school. Sorry to burst your bubble,Mammà,but I think you’ll have a long wait ahead before you hear the pitter-patter of tiny feet.”

“I’m nothing if not patient.” She smiles, but the warmth fades as her eyes fall to the next photo on the mantle, one of my father and his late cousin, Pietro.

“I hate that picture,” I say, the words slipping out before I can stop them.

“Why?” she asks gently, no judgment in her voice.

“Because it’s a reminder. Of him. Ofthem.”

I don’t need to explain further. My mother knows exactly what I mean.

Pietro wasn’t just my father’s cousin. He was more like a brother to him. That is, until he betrayed him and almost married the one woman my father truly loved—my mother.

However, it’s not just Pietro’s betrayal that the photo reminds me of. It’s what’s missing from the frame, the invisible cloud that shrouds it. The missing cousin and Pietro’s bastard brother, Ciro LaSpina.

Ciro’s betrayal was far worse. He didn’t just try to steal my mother. He launched a coup that nearly killed my father and Jude in the process.

There’s nothing warm in that photo for me. Just a bloody history and ugliness.

And to make matters worse, I’m a carbon copy of Pietro. The man’s been dead for over thirty years, long before I was ever born, but when I look in the mirror, it’s his face that stares back at me.

“I never understood why Father keeps this photo on display. Why would he want it up here with the rest of the family?”

“I would’ve thought the answer was quite obvious,” she says softly. “Vincent loved Pietro very much. He still does.”

“Does he?” I ask, stunned that he could care for someone who betrayed him so deeply.

“How could he not?” she replies, a hint of affection in her voice. “I know you’ve heard a lot of stories about Pietro, but I was there, remember? Not only was he your father’s closest confidant, but he was my friend too.”

“How can you say that? He tried to steal you from him,” I say, astounded.

“Life isn’t linear, my sweet boy. You, of all people, should know that,” my mother answers patiently. “Nor should we judge people by their worst actions in their lives. Not when the rest of it was filled with so much love.” She returns her gaze to the photo, a sad hue starting to dim her bright, green eyes. “Like us,Pietro didn’t have a choice at that time. He was just following Big Sal’s orders. Even if part of him had been disloyal to Vincent, he still loved him. He still cared. And even though I didn’t see it then, he was my friend when I needed one.” She then picks up the photo, presses a kiss to the glass, and whispers, “Prego che tu abbia trovato la pace, Pietro. Grazie per tutto.” Then she gently sets the frame back in its place and looks at me. “You look so much like him, you know?” she says with a faint smile, cupping my cheek as she studies me. “Except for the eyes.” Her smile falters for a split second, crippling sadness flickering across her features.

I’m thankful she doesn’t elaborate further. I know exactly who my eyes remind her of. I’ve seen photographs of The Thorn in old newspaper clippings buried deep in my father’s office. Ciro’s eyes… his empty melancholy stare—my stare—is unmistakable.

Sometimes I wonder if my father’s lack of love is because he knows the devil dwells inside of me, or because I look like the devil that tormented him all those years ago. When he looks at me, does he see me, Pietro, or Ciro? Can he even tell the difference anymore?

My mother must read the thoughts in my mind, because her hand slowly drops from my cheek, her sad smile gone.

“Oh, how silly of me. I forgot. Your father’s looking for you. I think he’s in his office with Gio and Dom.”

Not wanting to keep him waiting or sit through any more of my mother’s stroll down memory lane where ghosts still linger, I kiss her cheek and head to my father’s office.

“Good,” Vincent says the second I walk through the door. “I was wondering where you’d gone off to.”

“Mom said you wanted to speak with me,” I say, stepping in front of his desk.

“Yes.” His tone sharpens. “I think it’s time you move beyond shadowing Dominic and start learning the other areas of the business.”

“I don’t understand,” I retort, confused.

“And that’s part of the problem,” he replies, disappointed. “Dominic has been an excellent tutor in the art of enforcing Outfit law. But now it’s time for you to learn how tobethe law.”

“What your father’s cryptically trying to say,” Gio chimes in, “is that you’re being promoted, son. Starting tomorrow, you’ll begin training to be his underboss.”

“You want me to be underboss?” I croak, heat blooming beneath my skin like the beginning of withdrawal.

“I do,” Vincent says without hesitation. “Under Gio’s guidance, you’ll learn the trade and what’s expected of you. Once you’ve proven your merit in that role, I’ll officially name you. From that point forward, everycapoin this city will have to go through you to reach me. It will be the final phase of your… let’s call it education. When I’m satisfied that you can lead, that you have earned it, I’ll announce my retirement and your succession asCapo dei Capi.”