Masters at Arms - By Kallypso Masters Page 0,42

You will just un-join.” She acted as though her decreeing such would make it so.

“Not an option, Mama. I fly to Chicago tomorrow to begin training at Great Lakes.”

Mama’s hand gripped her fork and he couldn’t help but think she wished it were protruding from his neck at the moment. Her eyes narrowed. “How can you do this to me, Marco?”

The tears welling in her eyes tugged at Marc’s heart, but he wouldn’t relent. “Mama, I’m not doing anything to you. I’m doing this for me.”

For my country. For Gino.

Papa, Sandro, and Carmela stared at him in disbelief and something akin to awe. He’d never stood up to Mama before. Melissa just looked as if something was slipping away from her grasp.

“Marco,” Melissa began, “how can you do this to your Mama?”

Well, that was new. Concern for his mother? Rich, Melissa. Fucking rich.

Mama’s face became redder with Melissa’s encouragement. “This family already made the ultimate sacrifice for America. We need not shed any more precious D’Alessio blood in this war.”

But the wrong D’Alessio brother’s blood was shed.

If anyone had been expendable in the family, it most certainly would have been Marc. Twenty-six years old and when had he ever done something selfless? Noble? Honorable?

Marc wiped the condensation off his wine glass with his thumb, watching a bead of water trickle down the stem. He’d never admitted to his brother how much he admired him, spending all those years being jealous of Gino’s status in the family. He’d never have that chance now.

Marc looked up at her, his gaze locking with Melissa’s. She hadn’t loved Gino the way he’d deserved. She sure as hell didn’t love Marc. Was she just some damned gold digger? He dismissed her, not caring what her motives were.

Then he turned to his mother. “I need to do this, Mama.” His voice sounded raspy even to his ears. Marc maintained his gaze with Mama. You aren’t going to win this one, Mama. When she looked down at her plate. Marc felt as if the world shifted on its axis. She’d surrendered.

“Well, at least you haven’t joined the Marines,” Mama whispered. “I don’t think I could bear that.”

Gino had served with the Marines. No problem. Marc was tired of trying to compete with his brother. He’d never fill his brother’s shoes as a war hero either, unless he got himself killed, which he didn’t intend to do. So he’d chosen the Navy instead.

“Just be careful, son,” Papa said. “Come home safe.”

“I will, Papa.” Marc placed his red cloth napkin on the table. “Now, if you will all excuse me, I need to relieve the manager at the front desk for the night shift.” Marc had decided he and Sandro would work some of the holiday shifts to give more employees a chance to spend time with their families.

“Sandro, when you’re finished eating, you’re on duty at the concierge desk tonight.”

“I’m finished.” His little brother quickly wiped his mouth, probably anxious to escape the tension in the room, as well. “Mama, may I be excused?”

Mama gave him a nod, but her gaze remained fixed on Marc. Without any acknowledgement of Melissa, Marc turned to leave. He felt Mama’s and Melissa’s gazes boring into his shoulder blades as he exited the dining room.

* * *

Nearly an hour later, Marc placed the phone in the receiver and sighed. He looked across the hotel lobby at the blazing fireplace surrounded by the festive decorations Carmela had orchestrated. Several couples laughed and flirted as they sipped cocktails and beer, gearing up for an evening of sex, no doubt.

Two years ago, he’d partied with the guests after a long day on the slopes giving ski lessons. Marc had never fit into a business suit. The guests had treated him like one of their own. He preferred to teach ski lessons during the winter months, lead extreme mountain-hiking excursions the other seasons, and provide his own specialized services after hours year-round. His gut tightened. He’d given up all three, the last when Gino died.

Right now, though, he had a guest asking for him specifically for some emergency in her cabin. Marc picked up the master-key card and put the “Back in a Moment” sign on the reception desk. He told the bartender at the wet bar in the lobby she’d need to cover the desk for a while.

Marc sauntered over to the Concierge desk. “Sandro, come with me. You’re going to have to deal with these matters after I leave tomorrow.”

At least Sandro showed a