25. Cristiano

C ristiano

Sav doesn't look up when I enter Father's office. "What are you doing here?" he says with a clipped tongue.

"This is my home too, in case you'd forgotten." I use the sharp retort to cover up my surprise at his blunt tone. "And I thought you might be happy to see your little brother."

He rests our father's favorite Montblanc pen on the leather surface of the antique desk and releases a tight breath. I'm impressed at how quickly he's made himself at home in Father's office.

He stands without looking at me. "I thought you were staying at your apartment. According to my staff, you seem to find it preferable to take my fiancée there than to keep an eye on her here."

My blood runs cold. He can't suspect there's something between me and Trilby, can he? He hasn't been around enough to see anything that would give him pause. Besides, I find it hard to believe he even cares.

"It's just easier," I say, following him out to the kitchen. "You shouldn't leave her alone so much, Sav. She's too ... spirited. Twice I've found her in nightclubs ..."

"Is she a drunk?" His lip curls.

"No." I flinch at his brevity. "But the same can't be said for the company she keeps." I wouldn't categorize Sandrine as a drunk, but I wouldn't say she was a positive influence either.

He turns and presses a hand onto the kitchen counter before glancing at the clock on the wall. "What are you saying, fratello ?"

"I'm saying she's not wise to this life. She doesn't realize every Marchesi asshole on the street would give his left fucking testicle to kidnap her, torture her, and send you the sound of her begging for mercy."

He pins me with a glare. "Didn't she lose her mother to this life?"

My fingers flex automatically. "Yeah, but she doesn't live in the Cosa Nostra. Not in the thick of it like you do. She certainly doesn't have much comprehension of the kind of threats you and I get on a daily basis."

I watch for some hint of understanding to cross his face, but it doesn't. He just shrugs.

I fight the urge to curl my fists. "Don't you care?"

His eyes narrow. "Not as much as you, it seems."

Fuck. I run a hand through my hair. "If anything happened to her ..." How can I appeal to him without looking like I'm in over my damned head? "It wouldn't be good for business," I say with a sigh. "Your business or mine."

He folds his arms and tilts his head slightly. "Why wouldn't it be?"

My jaw stiffens as resolve hardens my heart. "Would you be comfortable doing business with someone who can't even keep his own fiancée alive?"

His teeth grind as he considers my response. "Fine. I'll get some guys on her."

I knead the back of my neck. "Good."

"You know ... you don't have to stay for the wedding."

I snap my head up. "Why?"

"Well, I'm sure you have business to get back to, and Nicolò can be my best man."

My chest tightens. "Are you being serious?"

His expression remains sober.

"I know we aren't the closest we've ever been, but I'm still your brother, Sav."

He emits an ugly laugh. "We were never close, you and me. You assumed I liked you, and I never cared enough to correct that assumption."

A vein at the base of my throat throbs. Why is he being such a dick? Has he always been this big of an ass, or is he only revealing his true colors now Father has died?

"So why did you bother to pull me out of the river when I almost drowned all those years ago?"

His eyes grow dark and cold. "Would you be comfortable doing business with someone who didn't save his own brother from drowning when he had the chance?"

His sharp retort is astonishingly revealing. He only saved me because of how it would look if he didn't? He was twelve .

"Why do I think there's more to it than that?" I ask.

He levels me with a glare. "Were you really so oblivious to it?"

I shake my head, confused. "To what?"

He smiles, but it's cold. "I guess you were too wrapped up in the glow of Father's admiration to see it."

"See what?"

He pans his gaze to his glass and swirls the amber liquid around it. "That you were always his favorite."

I'm stunned. I knew Father and I had a different relationship to Father and Savero, but that was because tougher things were expected of Sav. He was the eldest; the one who would inherit the title. I had no idea he harbored such resentment toward me. When Father was around, Savero at least pretended he liked having me visit. But now ... he can't seem to get rid of me fast enough.

"If I hadn't saved you that day ... he would have ended me."

That is simply not true. I never remember Father treating Savero as anything other than a much-loved son.

" Fratello . . ." I start.

"Save it," he snaps. "I've made my peace with it, brother. I just want to move on and rule this place like I was born to. You may as well leave now."

I glance at the framed photographs above Father's desk. Generations of brothers standing by each other, working together, supporting one another, being best men at their weddings. If I left now, as Sav's asking me to do, we'd be breaking a long-held tradition in our family—one my father was so vocal about having us uphold.

That's not the only reason I can't leave yet. I need to make sure Castellano is safe and settled. But even as I think those thoughts, I know they're excuses. Staying an extra few days won't make her any safer or more settled. If anything, my presence will un settle her. It'll make it that little bit harder for us both to say goodbye.

Besides, I don't think I can act as though I'm not in over my head with her, and I know my desire for her will be as transparent as the water in Savero's pool.

"I will stay to the end of the wedding." I force out a breath, along with words that taste sour on my tongue. "Then I'll be gone, and you'll never have to see me again."

His brow drops over calculating eyes. "Fine."

"But promise me you'll get some surveillance for your fiancée. She doesn't want to be caged in, and she's demonstrated that multiple times in your absence. If you go ahead with this marriage, Sav, I suggest you get protection on her twenty-four-seven."

Sav's eyes darken further. "If?"

"If what?"

"No ..." His tone is measured. "You said ‘if' I go ahead with the marriage. Why wouldn't I go ahead with it? I want that port. This is a business transaction, and I don't back out of those."

I raise my hands. "Fine. When . And until then, you will treat me like a brother," I say with grit in my voice and sadness in my throat. Then I walk out before he can object.

I can still feel his accusatory glare burning into my back as I step out into the harsh midday sun. I should feel hurt by his coldhearted dismissal, but the main sensation I have is one of sheer relief. I've never wanted to admit it before now, but being friendly to Savero has always been a struggle. His cool eyes have never reciprocated warmth, and his harsh words are often so hard to swallow. Even Father avoided him on occasion. But the relief is tempered by guilt. I'm leaving Castellano in this man's hands. If anything were to happen to her while under his watch, I don't think I'd be able to stop myself. I'd cause him equal harm without a thought.

I stand on the stone path leading to the gardens, close my eyes, and breathe in deeply, trying to fill my lungs with the same conviction I felt when I last left this place ten years ago. Back then I couldn't wait to get away. Mama's murder was still fresh at the front of my mind, and Father had disappeared on a rampage that resulted in more than a hundred bloody deaths.

This time feels very different. Much as I want to be out from under my brother's hostile gaze, I don't want to leave. And the reason why is shaped like an hourglass and tastes like sweet hope and dangerous distraction.

I could so easily stay. I have easy access to Savero's movements; I could find out exactly when and where I'd catch Castellano alone. All I'd need to do is press those pretty lips to mine and wrap her legs around my waist, and I just know she'd be as far gone as I would be. Despite our resolve to pretend nothing happened, I know for a fact the conviction went only skin-deep. The second my soul speaks to hers again, we'll be fucked.

Her panties are still tucked into my pocket, and her sweetness still sits on my tongue. I'm so far under her spell I can hardly think straight. When I'm not making plans to head back to my businesses, I'm scheming, dreaming up ways I can see her again, get her alone, have a taste of her just one more fucking time .

I've seen enough addicts in my lifetime to be able to spot them a mile away. They loiter around every dark corner of my casinos, their fingers sizzling with the need to stack some chips.

That's me in the corner.

She's my winning hand, my lucky dice, the millions that no matter how hard you gamble you can never quite grasp. And that's why I'm leaving. No matter how much I crave her, she isn't mine to have.

I open my eyes and focus them on a cluster of planters across the yard. Mama adored her flowers and insisted on doing all the gardening work herself. When she died, Father didn't have the heart to get rid of her beloved plants, so he hired a full-time gardener. Mama had a particular fondness for yellow—I remember growing up in a sea of sunshine. She hated dark pink, and especially red. Said she saw enough of that whenever she stepped out of the house. I never really understood what she meant until after she died. Then everything looked red to me, and I quickly grew to detest it too.

This is what makes me look twice at a plant nestled in the center of the cluster. Its berries are white, which isn't unusual for this garden, but the stalks are the color of fresh blood. It looks eerie, the fruits resembling the eyes of small children. A shudder uncoils down my spine.

That's my sign.

It's time for me to go.