Turning Point||Book 2

6: Romano.

Santo's laughter reverberated in response, the guttural sound spreading across the room. He leaned against the gleaming glass table, a flicker of amusement in his eyes.

"Bold of you to still call him your father," he quipped, the words dripping with evil. "Well, your father was always a master storyteller. I'm not surprised that's the tale he spun for why he was underboss while I played the part of a mere capo. But that's all in the past now. He's not around to spin his web of lies, and I'm not here seeking your sympathy."

"Point of correction, I'm not in the habit of offering people sympathy. You better look in a different direction."

"Oh, shut up, Romano." The man clenched the empty glass so tightly it threatened to shatter. "You should be begging me, not rattling your mouth." His fist collided with the glass table. "Vilma was a kid before you tainted her with that virulent poison surrounding yours and your father's hands."

Now we were talking. I wouldn't deny that his fury was likely fueled by the fact that I had had a relationship with his daughter. Yet, something felt off, and it wasn't just his initial theory, which was as misguided as he was. It was the revelation dawning on me – that maybe, just maybe, he and my father weren't the inseparable brothers they portrayed themselves to be around the rest of us.

I couldn't stop thinking, so I asked, "Why did you let her come? To play dress-up with my sisters while avoiding my father? Because you certainly wouldn't have wanted her in the same space as the brother you were in competition with."

As he opened his mouth to respond, the entrance of Flavia, my mother's personal assistant, added a new layer to the unfolding drama. She glided into the lounge with measured steps, gracefully announcing that dinner awaited.

Without breaking eye contact with my uncle, I silenced Flavia with a decisive hand gesture and nonchalantly waved her towards the exit. I didn't bother to look in her direction; my focus remained locked on my uncle. "Leave us!"

"I-I'm sorry, Sir Romano, but the lady, Katie, is in the estate. She wants a word with you."

Only then did I shift my attention to Flavia. "Tell her to wait in my quarters if it's important."

"And if it isn't?" Flavia cautiously stepped back, throwing the question into the charged atmosphere.

"She knows what to do then."

With a nod, the help retreated. My gaze returned to my uncle, his eyes shadowed by thoughts I could only speculate about. Eager to pick up where we left off, to unravel the mystery of why he had allowed Vilma's visit to my father, a man he perennially clashed with over the so-called underboss post. However, he chose that moment to break into laughter, circling the table with a demeanor that suggested he was prepared to sidestep the questions.

"Hmm. You still fuck the whore?" Santo tsked. "They never know when to call it quits. Your father's story is exactly what you're reliving."

"Who I fuck is none of your perverted business, Vitriol," I spat. "You had one task, to protect your only daughter, and you let her wander off to the wolf, now you stand here and hate me for it."

"You know nothing about the responsibility of a father!" he charged, rage furrowing his brows. Swiftly, I stepped away, avoiding his approaching hands. He wouldn't hit me, no. "You know nothing of responsibilities."

"You're speaking about responsibilities to the man who's promised to kill his own father, to a man who's protected his sisters from the clutches of madmen."

Livid, I clenched and unclenched my fists. He, in his sanctimonious stance, understood nothing about the lengths I'd gone and would go to embody the man I aspired to be. "A man who would have died protecting Vilma. Don't you dare act like a man just because you're given the title; some of you are only there for the sake of the name, not for the weight of the responsibility."