But, this Sunday was different.
Luca Varasso had left the morning before, halfway through his father’s monthly family meeting, and hadn’t been seen since. Marco, the second son, had gone looking for him, but he was nowhere to be found. Not in the little apartment he’d kept with Alana downtown, not at the tiny sandwich shop he’d frequented as a teenager, not in any of the parks where he’d taken to going on long, wandering walks with the newborn Anna Varasso in tow.
The first Varasso son had disappeared.
Gabriel and Alessandro, the youngest of the Varasso boys, took on the majority of their father’s demands, leaving Marco to search for the lost Prince. He’d taken Anna with him, so they figured he couldn’t have gone far, especially with a newborn that required a very specific series of medical appointments. But, the Varasso family doctor said he was told not to disclose Luca’s location, though he did confirm that little Anna had been in for her check-ups and vaccines, and that she was both healthy and flourishing.
With Luca gone, Marco searching, and Gabriel and Alessandro picking up the slack, Angelo Varasso was left alone at the head of the table in the dining room. He frowned over his usual glass of single malt whiskey.
The table had been set, but he was the only one who had arrived.
The cook, a short woman of sixty-two years who’d known Angelo Varasso since he was a young boy, the oldest son of the formidable Giuseppe Varasso, bustled in with a tray of covered plates, prepared to serve the meal like she’d done for almost thirty years.
When she saw Angelo Varasso sitting alone, the room still and silent, she froze.
The old leader of the elegant Varasso drug empire sighed quietly and looked up at the woman.
“No dinner tonight, Rosa,” he sighed.
“No dinner?” Rosa was utterly confused. Despite every horrible tragedy that had struck the cursed Varassos, Sunday dinner had taken place no matter what.
“No,” replied Angelo.
Rosa nodded once and turned to leave the room but Angelo cleared his throat as if he were about to continue speaking.
“Please,” he added. “Feel free to box it up and bring it home to your loved ones. I know you work hard on these Sunday affairs.”
“Thank you, sir.”
She hurried out of the room, disturbed by the chill in the air.
The next Sunday, Angelo Varasso appeared in the kitchen at noon, around the time that Rosa began preparing the meal.
“Don’t bother today, Rosa,” he muttered, his voice quiet. Anyone who didn’t know Angelo well wouldn’t be able to detect the smallest hint of worry in his voice. But, of course, Rosa knew him as well as if he were her own family.
Another Sunday passed, and Rosa began to get the hint.
Twenty more Sundays passed like that.
And then, before anyone knew it, a year passed.
An entire year, and the death of Alana Rhodes still hung heavy on the shoulders of Luca Varasso. Those who knew him tended to comment on the way he had hardened, the way he’d darkened, over the past year. That darkness had spread throughout the family, with a strength that suggested Luca carried just as much influence as his father.
Angelo Varasso watched his son warp into a twisted, monstrous version of himself. He was concerned about the stony barrier that had been erected around his oldest son’s heart, but he was also happy for it. No longer was his heir distracted by love, blinded by some beautiful woman. Angelo himself had spent most of his life distracted by lovely women. Only now, years after losing both of them, was he truly strong and focused. The Varasso drug empire had blossomed and grown into an unstoppable beast that would feed Angelo’s family for generations to come.
Luca’s father didn’t want to admit it, but he thought his son was better this way.
And maybe he was right.
Luca was stronger, deadlier, and more calculating than ever. Those who feared him before the death of Alana Rhodes were now terrified by the mere mention of his name. Even other Varassos, family members who weren’t as high up in the chain of command, grew uneasy at the mention of the oldest son.
Thus, the Varasso family curse continued. It was clear that earthquakes and hurricanes and tragic injury weren’t the only thing plaguing those in the bloodline. Varasso men were fated for heartbreak.
The other sons, who’d begun to realize that, started guarding their own hearts.
It wasn’t long until the entire lot of them were purely, irrevocably heartless. One cold King, four heartless Princes, and an entire city under their control.
But, this wasn’t the end of the Varassos’ story.