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The reminder is a shock. I do all I can to keep my voice level. As much for a distraction, a change of air, I ask him, “Is there coffee here?”
He looks up from under his eyebrows. “I can ask Jaggers to bring some fresh if you want.”
With my eyes finally taking in the interior, I’m looking around for signs of the rumpus we’ve had, but the place looks perfect. I wonder if Bruno straightened the room up, or if one of the other boys came out before breakfast.
Or if Jago found all of the mess we’ve been leaving here.
“No,” I tell him, “I really want more coffee. But I really, really don’t want Mrs. Jago out here.”
It feels like I’ve been living on a knife-edge as it is, thinking that she’s bound to get a whiff of what’s going on between the four of us.
Finally Bruno’s eyes soften, although something in his pants seems to do the opposite.
“I’ll make coffee,” he says. “And, don’t mind me. I came here to cool off after, well, let’s say some heated discussion. I thought I’d have the place to myself for a while. Then, the sight of Mom’s books.”
After a pause, he adds, “And the sight of you…” He does nothing to keep the leer out of his voice, like he’s already thought up some filthy ways we can take advantage of this unexpected opportunity.
Well, so have I, mister.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
He moves decisively to the kitchen area. “I don’t think any of Mom’s books have been out of their place on the shelves since… well, for a few years at least.”
He has his back to me while he brews up fresh coffee, giving me a panty-melting view of his very fine ass.
“Did I do something wrong,” I ask him, “taking out the books?” I feel like I could be tiptoeing on a minefield with no map.
The heat of the glare he sends over his shoulder would bend steel. “No. No, it’s good to see her things out and being used.”
“You miss her.” It’s not a question. I can see he does.
He takes a long breath. “You could say that.” Then, softer. “Not as much as Carlo does, I guess.”
I say, “What about Alessio?” and I feel like I stepped hard in the wrong place.
The crack in his laugh is like a rusty saw. “You don’t know, do you?”
He pours coffee. The cup rattles in the saucer as he sets it on the table by the window.
“It’s all supposed to be private business, but I think we all assume that everybody knows everything. It’s not your fault.”
I need the coffee more than ever, but I’m rooted to the spot. Even though his neck is reddening, Bruno comes to put his hand on my shoulder and guide me to the seat by the window.
“Sit. Enjoy your coffee. It’s story time, I’ll draw you a family tree.”
“I’ve been wondering why only Alessio calls the don, ‘Dad,’ and you and Carlo both call him the don.”
“It’s funny. Hilarious, really. Alessio is the son and heir, but he is not a Fortuna. Neither is the don. He’s not even a don, except by his marriage to Mom, and his name is not ‘Fortuna.’ Mom married him after Dad died. Otherwise the Romanos, the Puccis, maybe even your family and the Crespis, would have picked the family and its businesses apart like buzzards.”
As he sits opposite me with his coffee, his eyes soften. “No offense meant.”
I manage a smile at last. “None taken. We all know how those things go down.”
Bruno watches me, like he’s making some kind of an assessment as he takes a sip off his coffee. “Mom needed a strong man to step in and hold the family together. And, whatever else he may be, the don is strong.”
I’m trying not to look at the bulge in his pants. The bulges under his suit coat are distracting enough. “So, he came in and just took on the mantle? Called himself the don? I didn’t know you could do that.”
He waves a hand airily. “We can do anything. All of us can. You know that. You probably just never thought of it in that way.” He shrugs. “Why would you? Lines of accession and succession are always simple. Until they’re not.” He adds, “Mom more than went along with it. She was behind it. It’s why she married him.”
