She Married The Mafia Heir I Married The Next Don Chapter 06
The Other Son
Rosa finds out more than my father tells me.
By the time the invitation to the Morello dinner arrives, I have a notebook full of names.
Sons.
Brothers.
Widowers.
Men my father might consider useful enough to marry me off to.
I cross out the ones who frighten me for reasons that have nothing to do with their reputations.
I underline the ones nobody can tell me much about.
Nico Morello is one of those.
The Don’s younger son.
His mother was a waitress before Carlo Morello brought her into his life. She died when Nico was young.
Not long afterward, he was sent overseas to live with associates of the family.
He stayed there through school.
Then through the early years of his working life.
He returned last year.
Nobody seems to know what he came back to.
At the dinner, Alessandro sits close to his father.
People lean toward him when he speaks.
Bianca is beside him, looking as though she has spent her whole life preparing for that chair.
My mother notices me looking.
“Don’t start.”
“I haven’t said anything.”
“Good.”
I turn away.
Nico sits near the end of another table.
His suit fits.
His manners are easy.
But nobody goes out of their way to speak to him.
When someone needs a chair moved, he stands and does it himself.
Alessandro doesn’t have to notice that chairs exist.
I watch Nico set down his glass.
Then he looks up.
Our eyes meet.
He doesn’t smile.
He doesn’t look me over.
After a moment, he turns back to the table.
I understand that expression.
He knows exactly where he stands in this room.
He isn’t wasting energy pretending otherwise.
My father thinks I need a man willing to overlook my shortcomings.
Maybe I need one who has more pressing problems.
Nico has the name.
He has the same father as Alessandro.
What he doesn’t have is money he controls, a powerful mother’s family, or a room full of people waiting for him to speak.
A wife from the De Santis family would bring something.
Even a wife my parents don’t particularly want to keep.
I excuse myself before dessert.
Outside, the terrace is quiet.
I stand near the railing and let the cold air clear my head.
“You picked the best part of the house.”
I turn.
Nico is a few steps away, one hand in his pocket.
“The part without people?”
“The part where you can hear yourself think.”
I look back through the glass doors.
My mother is laughing at something Alessandro said.
“Yes,” I say. “It’s an improvement.”
Nico stands beside the opposite end of the railing.
Not close enough to force a conversation.
Not far enough to end it.
For a while, neither of us speaks.
Then he says, “They’ve been watching you all evening.”
“I noticed.”
“Does it bother you?”
He looks at me.
I shrug.
“You’re not the only person who knows when a room is waiting for them to get something wrong.”
For the first time, his mouth moves toward a smile.
“No,” he says. “I suppose not.”
I study him.
“What do you do about it?”
“Depends what they can do to me.”
“That sounds like a careful answer.”
“It is.”
I look down at the garden.
All evening, people have asked whether I’m enjoying being home.
As though the question is harmless.
As though there is an answer I can give without making somebody uncomfortable.
“I thought knowing what they were doing would make it easier,” I say.
“And?”
“It doesn’t.”
Nico rests his hand on the railing.
“Knowing isn’t much use if they can still decide everything for you.”
I turn toward him.
“What would be?”
“Something of your own. Money. People who answer when you call.”
“Easy to say.”
“I didn’t say it was easy.”
Inside, someone opens the doors, sees us, then goes back in.
Nico notices.
So do I.
“You should go back,” he says.
“Are you worried about my reputation?”
“I’m guessing you’ve heard enough about it tonight.”
He starts toward the doors.
I speak before I can talk myself out of it.
“What if you can’t get those things alone?”
He stops.
“Then you need help.”
“An ally?”
He turns.
The polite distance is gone from his face.
He’s listening now.
“Maybe.”
“What would make you say yes?”
He looks at me for a long moment.
“What can you bring, and what do you want in return?”
Then someone calls his name from inside.
He waits just long enough to make it clear the question wasn’t a joke.
After he leaves, I stay on the terrace.
He didn’t promise anything.
He didn’t tell me I deserved better.
He asked what I had to offer.
I can work with that.
On the drive home, my mother tells me I did well.
“You were much calmer tonight.”
I watch the city through the window.
She thinks I’ve finally learned how to fit in.
I let her think it.
For the first time since coming home, I know who I want to speak to next.