A knowing respect for me as the patriarch of the Calvetti family.
Frank Sinatra’s “The Way You Look Tonight” rose out of the surround-sound speakers.
It was no surprise when Sofia broke away from Jake and gestured for me to join her for the second dance. I stepped foot onto the dance floor and walked toward her.
To some, I’d appear rough around the edges or to the more discerning guests on the groom’s side, dangerous even. We’d survived too many years with only each other for support for either of us to care about the opinions of strangers.
Approaching Sofia, I gave a small bow as Jake stepped aside. With a motion of gratitude, I led my sister away, and we began a slow dance together. I pulled her into my body in an affectionate hug, and she wrapped an arm around my neck, the other holding me close.
“Isn’t all of this perfect?” She looked up at me.
“It really is.”
“You’re the best brother a girl can have.”
“You didn’t always think that.” My brow arched.
“When I was five and you wouldn’t let me play with your toys.”
“You mean my miniature Italian car collection?” I winked.
“Do you still have it?”
Trying to hold a fake smile, I feigned it was somewhere. She didn’t need to be reminded it was in the attic of our old home. The home that had brought her so much grief. The one she rarely visited. Yet, I had stayed there as though afraid my promise to myself all those years ago might never be realized—when I was ready—on my terms.
And not after I’d let the Glassmans have an eternity of knowing I was coming for them. Maybe tonight. Maybe in another decade. When they’d spent even more years watching their backs and jumping at shadows.
“You like Jake, don’t you?” She’d broken my melancholia.
“He makes you happy.”
She rolled her eyes.
“Seems decent.”
“I love him.”
“Him loving you more is what matters to me.”
“He does.”
“You’re a great couple,” I said to reassure her with a wry smile.
It seemed to work as she rested her head against my chest and relaxed into the slow dance.
Time would tell. Jake had married into the Calvetti family, and that meant he was aware our father had built one of the greatest shipping empires in the world. Maybe Dad had also dabbled on the edge of the underworld, but it had been me who’d finally taken us right into its center.
It hadn’t always been this way.
As a young man, I was shipped off to boarding school and lived amongst the upper crust of New York society until I graduated. Foolishly, I’d believed it would always be like this.
Privileged and safe.
Until that evening.
That short visit home to New Orleans.
The future I envisioned for myself changed in the blink of an eye.
I had seen the worst of what men can do. I’d been unprepared for the slaughter that ensued, taking our parents from us, and I had been forced to become a man before I was supposed to.
Forced to put myself second and my sister first. I’d done it gladly. I’d do anything for her.
“You’ve given me the best wedding.” Her eyes watered with emotion.
Pulling her closer, I said, “Shhh.”
“This will be you one day.”
“Focus on you,” I said firmly. “This day is yours.”
Me having a lover meant that she would be vulnerable to the whim of a man who would take his revenge out on her. Loving anyone left me vulnerable, and I needed to remain vigilant. Needed to be constantly poised to take down that family.
But only when I was ready.
There was a glimmer of affection left for my sister. The Glassmans had stolen the rest.
All that remained was hate.
That was what they’d done to me. Replaced my soul with an endless void after murdering our parents. The unseen scars were a testament to their attack that day.
I had failed.
I wasn’t able to protect them.
Unable to save Mom.
The memories of that house in the woods marked what those people were capable of. At fourteen, that event left more than an indelible impression. It had carved out a monster.
Forever changed.
Though I did what I could to protect Sofia from my darkness.
“Mom would be so proud,” I whispered close to her ear.
She closed her eyes as she sank into Sinatra’s dulcet tones and sighed as though letting the memory of our parents wash over her. I held onto this thought of Mom, bringing her into this moment, even as I endured the loss of her, so she could be with us in her own way. Dad, too, would have loved every second of this wedding.
Glassman had stolen that from us.
And I would repay him by delivering him to hell.
The bad blood between families would never cease until that entire family was wiped from the earth.
I’d start with his children.
That was what I had told Glassman three weeks after he’d killed my parents. He’d laughed in my face, but something told me my words had rattled him.