It’s been a long fucking day. I just want to sleep. Is that not allowed?”
“Yeah, of course,” I say, scrambling to think of what to say to calm him down. “I was just—”
“You’re always just,” he snaps.
Gabriel lifts off the bed and before I know it, he has crossed the room and stepped back into the hallway. In his haste to get as far away from me as possible, he didn’t even bother to put his clothes back on.
I am left in bewildered silence. There is no way he knew that I’d gone into the cellar, is there? No. He would have said something.
I shudder to think the kinds of things on Gabriel’s mind that would put him in such a foul mood.
13
Gabriel
I stare at the faces collected around the long dining room table, trying to discern any signs of potential dissent as I discuss this week’s business. Mirko’s eyes are as dark as his hair, and his frown is somehow darker. Antonio is nodding sagely. Vito looks uncomfortable, and I suspect that the agenda item he requested to discuss after this will not be pleasant. The other capos—Dom Rozzi, Elia Conti, Piero Bianchi, and Thomas Ricci—all wear expressions varying from shades of discontent to boredom.
I finish my order of business and am surprised when there are no follow-up questions. I do not know if that is a good sign or a bad sign.
“Vito,” I say, gesturing toward him. “You have news?”
Vito licks his lips and nods, sitting up a little straighter in his chair. “I’ve liaised with our contacts and they have sent fresh orders.”
My jaw tightens. I nod for him to continue.
Vito’s silver eyes scan the table. “We need to cut more funding to the rehabilitation program. Another 20 percent.”
The men grumble around the table, Mirko louder than the rest. I quiet them with a gesture of my hand, even though I want to rage against these instructions even more than they do. My blood heats. I did not work this hard in life, climb this high, to be given orders that I do not agree with. But I know I don’t have a choice.
“Fine,” I say. “But remind your contacts that continuing to limit funding will draw unnecessary scrutiny to Belluci Inc.”
Vito nods. “I will do.”
Not that it will likely do any good, but I don’t have any other cards I can play. The thought makes me want to flip this table in rage.
I keep it together, finishing the rest of the meeting and dismissing everyone. I get up and walk to the sideboard to pour myself a drink as they disperse.
“Vito,” I call out.
He pauses at the door.
“Stay for a drink.”
He comes back into the room and I pour him a measure of whiskey. His forehead is wrinkled and dark shadows bloom from his eyes. It looks like I’m not the only one who has been having trouble sleeping and I can’t help but enjoy that knowledge a little. Misery loves company.
We sit at the table—me at the head, him to my right—and sip from our glasses. The whiskey burns down my throat, and I feel it seep into my blood. The relief is instant.
“You’re doing the best you can,” Vito says, sensing my discomfort.
I nod. “I know.”
“We’re going to figure a way out of this.”
“Yeah.” I drain the glass, and get up to pour another. “I just look like a massive dickhead in the meantime.”
“It is not the wise man’s job to care what he looks like while he shovels shit to put out the fire,” Vito calls back to me.
I chuckle, swirling my fresh glass as I walk back to the chair and sink down. “Did you make that up yourself?”
“I did actually.” He looks a little too pleased with himself.
I miss the days when all we did was joke with each other. Lately it feels like we have gone from one disaster to the other, and it is all we can do to keep our heads above water.
Vito pushes his glass absently around the table. “How are things with Alexis?” he asks.
I surprise both of us by answering truthfully.
“Strange.” I sip more whiskey, pausing to swallow and think. “I don’t trust her. She doesn’t trust me. Yet we keep falling back into our old patterns between fucking and fighting.”
“Do you like your old patterns?”
I shrug, staring into my glass. “Yes.”
“Maybe it’s time to dispense of the distrust,” he suggests. “That would be one less stress from your plate.”
I snort. “As though it were