Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 94048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
I could hit the old man. I really could. “You were never going to do that,” I say instead. “We both know it. You’re too damn stubborn.”
He glances at me. “You need to remember who the Don is, Simon. You had control while I was recovering, but that isn’t your role.”
“Not yet.” I step closer to him, lowering my voice. “You’re always in pain, Dad. You work yourself too hard, and it’s starting to get to you. If you hadn’t gotten shot, there’s no doubt in my mind that you’d stay the Don until your deathbed, but things are different, and you know it. You have to see how today—”
“I’m not talking about retirement with you,” he says and his tone is jagged ice. I could slice myself open on the resentment in his eyes. “Sometimes I wonder if this is about you taking power more than it is about me getting better.”
I stare up at the sky. What’s frustrating isn’t that he thinks I’m trying to usurp him, because in a lot of ways, I am.
No, what pisses me off is this delusion he has about getting better.
It’s never going to happen. He’s been to a dozen different doctors, and they all tell him the same thing: the bullet hit his spine, and he’s lucky that he can walk at all. His pain will most likely never improve, though it probably won’t get worse. He’ll never walk unassisted again. He’ll never be what he was before.
He doesn’t care what the doctors say. In his mind, he’s going to wake up one morning, fully restored.
“Dad, I love you. You know that. But the family is bigger than either of us, and nobody will be served by you killing yourself. We need you around, but you won’t last long pushing yourself like this.”
He shakes his head as the car parks at the curb. “You really think you’re ready to step into my role? You think you can take over the Famiglia and become the Don? You tasted it once, but you have no idea what it means. It’s commitment, Simon. When you’re the Don, every mistake is your mistake. Every problem is your problem. It all goes through you, and you’re alone in everything. But you haven’t been able to commit to anything. I don’t know how you think I can trust you to give your life to the organization that I built. The answer is no, Simon. You’re not ready.”
He gets into the car. I remain on the curb, processing what he said. My hands feel numb and I could slam my fist through the window if that wouldn’t give him more ammunition for his point.
My father is so far gone that he can’t even see how I’ve already sacrificed everything for the Famiglia. I have no life beyond this organization exactly because it’s the most important thing in the world. I bleed for the Bianco Famiglia, and I already blame myself for anything that goes wrong, because ultimately, I’m responsible. I already carry the burden of leadership. I’m already so damn alone.
But he can’t see that, because he’s too wrapped up in his own pain.
Before he got shot, my father was talking about phasing me into the Don role. He was sharing more with me, bringing me into important meetings, making it clear that one day I would be on top. It was beginning to sound like it would happen sooner rather than later.
Now though, it’s like getting shot made him double down on dying in the Don’s chair.
I climb into the back seat beside him, and my father doesn’t speak as the car takes us back to the oasis.
And all I can think about is Emily. How she’d make the perfect wife. My father couldn’t keep throwing my relationship status in my face if I had her by my side, and maybe that wouldn’t be enough on its own to change his mind, but it would be a start. It would help give me legitimacy. It’s the first step on a long, difficult path.
All I need is for her to make the right decision.
Chapter 10
Emily
I feel the pressure of the clock as I go through my day. My whole shift at Cucina, I think about telling Ethan to get in touch with Simon, but whenever I feel myself starting to break down, I find some reason to hold back.
I picture my father’s face as I try to explain why I got married to a stranger. I imagine what’s left of my father’s pride crumbling as a man he doesn’t know pays all his bills. Every time I think that maybe five years isn’t all that long, and ten grand per month is worth my dignity, I force myself to stop and remember my father crying over a picture album, at the lowest he’s ever been, because of men like Simon.