Chapter 18

EIGHTEEN

Angelo

The double funeral took place not even two weeks ago, and here I am again, laying my father to rest. We didn't have an open-coffin burial for my mother and sister because of how the accident mutilated Adeline. For my father, it's different. I adhered to tradition, having him laid out in his bespoke black suit. I had his coffin placed among flowers, candles, and incense in the lounge where people can pay their last respects.

My uncles and cousins arrive first, then colleagues and business associates, and lastly the staff. Roch is among the guards. Seeing his face bugs me, but before I can act on it, Uncle Nico pushes a tumbler with amber liquor in my hand. I sniff the alcohol out of pure habit, registering in the back of my mind that it's Scotch as I swallow. Just like the previous time, I sit at the table amidst an abundance of food and shake the hands that people thrust at me. Only, this time, I'm at the head of the table. And this time, I drink. I shoot back the Scotch and pour another. And another. Until I'm slightly drunk.

Instead of numbing me, the alcohol intensifies the feelings I suppressed under the muck in my chest. The one that floats to the surface like oil drifting on water is anger. The one that ignites is fury. How I manage to keep a lid on it is a miracle. It brews quietly. Deadly. It waits for a spark so it can finally explode.

I force it down, because I'm not going to show my true nature at my father's funeral. Everyone is watching. They want me to step out of line. I can't afford to do that. Not now. Not here. I have to show these motherfuckers I have control. That I'm capable of running the business.

I don't miss that no one from the village is attending. I take note of that slap in the face. Let them despise and hate me. Fear is a much stronger bargaining chip than kindness.

When it's time for the staff to queue and Roch shakes my hand, I stand. My feet are steady, but my insides are shaking. It's the wrong time to do this. I know. Can I help myself? No.

"You're fired," I say.

He stumbles back a step, looking as if I slapped him. "I've been in your employ since I turned fifteen."

"Exactly." My smile is cold. "Now you're not. Gather your things and leave my property. If I ever see you here again, I'll kill you."

A hand falls on my arm. I look at the face of the owner, my muscles tensing for action. It's my uncle.

"Angelo," Uncle Nico says under his breath.

I don't care who hears me make death threats. No one will dare to speak up against me.

I shake off my uncle's touch and direct a single word at Roch. "Now."

Roch blinks.

"Angelo," Uncle Nico says again.

I raise a hand, silencing my uncle. He shuts his mouth. I'm in charge now. And no one lays a fucking finger on Sabella.

No one but me.

"You're not yourself," Uncle Nico whispers.

Uncle Enzo is the wiser brother. "Go, Roch. You heard Angelo."

Roch clenches his jaw, but he doesn't argue. He knows when it's dangerous to open his mouth. Bowing slightly, he says, "It was an honor to work for you, Mr. Russo." Then he turns and walks from the room.

"That was a mistake," Uncle Nico says in my ear.

I fix him with a stare. "Are you questioning my decisions?"

He doesn't falter under my look. "It was a mistake to let him go." He says the last part with meaning, making sure I get it.

I do. He's telling me I should've killed Roch instead of firing him, not because of what he did but because my father always said it's unwise to leave loose ends.

Roch shouldn't have pushed and insulted my future wife, but he paid for his actions. I promised my mother I'd look out for him, and I'm not going to break my promise by killing him.

Unable to stand the curious eyes trained on me for a minute longer, I go outside.

Heidi runs after me. "Mr. Russo. Angelo. Wait."

I turn.

Her face is scrunched up with concern. "Where are you going? You have guests. You can't just leave."

My smile is grim. "Watch me."

I get into my car and drive off without looking back. I have no idea where I'm going. All I know is that I need space. It's only when I pull up at the new house on the other side of the property thirty minutes later that I realize where I am.

The building supervisor steps outside. He gives me a speculative look when I get out of the car.

"Mr. Russo, I didn't expect you." He doesn't say, not today, but the words hang in the air between us.

I nod at the house. "When will it be ready?"

"By next week latest. The pipes were laid for the water. The electricity should be connected in a couple of days."

"Good."

I look at the stone and wood structure. It's a handsome house, big enough for a large family. The style is similar to that of the big house. I wanted continuity, even if this one stands more than twenty kilometers away from the main mansion. There's even a coop and a shed for animals. My maternal grandfather can bring his goats and chickens. I haven't seen the herd or the flock, but the people living nearby who I questioned said the old man keeps them a short distance down the stream. Apparently, he's inseparable from his animals. It's a pity he doesn't feel the same about his children and grandchildren. He's also said to be an abusive drunk. I'll have to keep a tight leash on him.

"Would you like a visit?" the supervisor asks.

It's a good, solid house. When the building site has been cleaned and the landscaper has done his work, the garden will be pretty. I should be proud of the project, but it's not me who should've been standing here. It should've been my mother. Only, now she'll never see it.

She'll never know.

The supervisor sounds uncertain. "Sir?"

I turn for my car. "No."

His baffled gaze burns on the back of my head as I get in and start the engine. It's time to throw myself into work, not only to turn my father's business into his dream, but also to forget.

Before taking the road, I type out an order on my phone that I send to the head of my security team, informing him to gather the old man and his troop of children and to move them here.