Page 87 of Dante

Little did I know what I was getting into when I agreed to marry her.

But then again, if I had not been forced into the marriage, it’s doubtful I would have married again.

I’m not much of a family man.

But then again, in the New York organization, women know their place.

The girls who were thrown at me after Mary’s death all knew what their lives would be like.

They’d be married to the head of the family. They could hold their heads high in our society. Other women would bow down to them, treat them like royalty.

And whatever I did, whatever I said, there’d be no questions.

Unlike Gina and her endless questions, a woman from the New York organization would serve me dinner.

Serve me in bed.

Serve me a son.

And their responsibilities would be fulfilled.

But Gina is different. Different in a way I never expected. Different in a way that right now feels like something I crave.

More alarming, I’m very close to needing Gina.

Too close.

My ears perk up as I sense a commotion outside my door. I hear my secretary’s high-pitched voice and a lower one, Silvio’s.

I stand just as the door bursts open and Silvio forces his way inside.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Ricci,” my secretary begins.

“It’s okay,” I say, gesturing for her to leave the room. “What’s come over you, Uncle?”

“An emergency,” he says. “I caught a few reporters snooping around outside, trying to bribe our employees for quotes about Mary’s death. Damn you for allowing that story to get through. I thought you took care of it.”

“I made a deal with the Vanity Fair publisher,” I remind him. “They didn’t keep their end of it.”

“No! The Russians must have used their growing influence to push it through. To discredit our family. And this is only the beginning. We’ll need to act, to respond in kind before they think we’re pushovers.”

I sit at my desk, refusing to match his angry energy. “I agree that the Russians are a force to be reckoned with. But controlling the press is not very high on their agenda.”

I turn my attention to a document I’d been reviewing. “If you’re finished, I have work to do.”

“What the fuck, Dante?” He moves his face to within an inch of mine. “What the fuck kind of speech did you make at the museum? What’s this about the ‘modern way’? What kind of bullshit quote did you attribute to Salvatore?”

“It was a genuine quote,” I say. “Father told me.”

“Ah, your father—a dreamer,” sneers Silvio. “I don’t know who put these notions in your head, Dante, but you’re going soft. Soft, you hear? You know what else I read in the paper today? Something about you buying a restaurant?”

“It’s not your concern,” I say quietly.

“Everything is my concern,” Silvio says. “Everything that concerns the family.”

“I respectfully request that you change your tone, Uncle. You should show me the proper regard as the head of the family. You may be my senior. You may be my uncle, but my father left me in charge. If he wanted things to run your way, he would have put you in charge.”

I pause to look at him. “But he didn’t.”