Page 40 of Vicious Intentions
The flames flicker softly in response. I stand there a moment longer before I place the wick back where it belongs.
Instead of going to class like I should, I sit back down on a pew and pull out my phone, calling the one person who could ever understand my siblings’ method of vengeance.
Chapter 7
Matteo
Twenty-two years old
Christmas came early this year in the form of a kidnapping. Two of Vincent Romano’s offspring, Luciano and Stella, were stolen from their home and shipped off to Russia, no less. Word of Vincent’s children being taken by theBratvacould not have reached more appreciative ears.
It seems the alliance between the Outfit and theBratvais not nearly as solid as Romano has led everyone to believe. There is a certain poetic justice in the fact that the two organizations that once plotted to kill my brother now find themselves at odds with each other.
I’ve been riding a high ever since I heard the news. And it clearly shows.
“You look awfully happy this morning,” my mother says as she slides another pancake onto my plate.
“Something about the Christmas season this year has put me in a good mood,” I reply, glancing at my brother, Niccolò, who looks just as pleased as I do, even if he is far less vocal about it.
“Well, that’s nice to hear,” my mother giggles.
She reaches out, runs her hand through my hair, and places a few more pancakes onto Niccolò’s plate before humming a soft tune under her breath. My cold heart swells at the sound.
Ever since my father attacked her last summer, it took a long time for her mind to truly return to us. Maybe it’s the Christmas lights, or the decorated trees we have scattered throughout the house, but she has had a solid three good days in a row. I know it is only a matter of time before her mind slips away again, but for now, I let myself enjoy this moment while it lasts.
The only one sitting at the table who doesn’t seem happy with all the good fortune we’ve been receiving is Raffaele. Ever since he started working for me, he’s been even more antagonistic to be around, if that’s even possible. He’s always shooting me scathing looks when he thinks no one is watching, though he never bothers to hide them when I catch him in the act.
I’ve been patient. More than patient, knowing Raffaele would need time to adjust to this new reality. But every scowl he throws my way, every clipped response or muttered remark under his breath, is starting to grate on my nerves. He may not like me right now, but he does have to respect me, and he has to show it. If I can’t keep my own brother in line, my authority means nothing to anyone else. True leadership begins at home, and any weakness here will be noticed by everycapoin theCosa Nostra. And I can’t afford that.
I also don’t miss the fact that Raffaele’s been even more uptight lately, ever since his little friend’s brother and sister were kidnapped. I see his concern in the way he’s constantlychecking his phone, in the frantic texts he sends when he thinks no one is paying attention.
But I’m always paying attention.
I don’t know what irritates me more. Raffaele thinking he’s outsmarting me—honestly believing he’s pulling the wool over my eyes and that I’m too dumb to notice—or the betrayal of maintaining a friendship with a girl whose family is our enemy.
The kid deserves one hell of a wake-up call. And if he keeps pushing my buttons, he might just get one sooner rather than later.
It’s only the sound of my mother’s singing, floating throughout the kitchen, that gently eases me out of my darker thoughts.
“I was thinking,” I say, my eyes still on my mother. “How about we all go see The Nutcracker tomorrow afternoon? I’m sure I can get tickets for the matinee.”
“Tomorrow is Christmas Eve,” Raffaele cuts in with a scoff, as if I should know better than to suggest something like that.
“I’m very aware,” I reply coolly. “That’s exactly why I suggested it. We could make it a new family tradition. We don’t have many of those.”
Raffaele rolls his eyes and goes back to texting his little friend. My fists clench beneath the table as I fight the urge to slap the damn thing out of his hands. The only thing preventing me is the look of my mother’s joy, watching me with a sparkle in her eyes.
“A family tradition,” she repeats, chewing on the words as if savoring them. “I would like that very much,” she adds, her loving gaze moving from me to my brothers, even the one with his head down and his eyes glued to his phone.
“Then it’s settled.”
“How wonderful!” she sings, spinning around like a ballerina.
Niccolò smiles widely at our mother, then shoots me a concerned look. I know exactly what he’s thinking. I shouldn’t make promises, much less future plans. If tomorrow turns out to be one of her bad days, the Lincoln Center, filled to the brim with strangers, will be the last place she would want to be.
Still, I let myself hope that another small miracle might fall into our laps. We deserve a little joy. We’ve fucking earned it for all the Christmases we had to spend without her.
“Thank bloody Christ,” Raffaele blurts out suddenly, sounding far too relieved for my liking.
