Page 30 of Legacy of Deception

If only we knew what it was.

“Our father’s not messing around, is he?” Carmine walked to Vito’s wet bar. “Care if I help myself?”

Vito shook his head. I would’ve asked for that drink now, but I needed a clear head to think this over. How could I use this new information? “Depends on how you see things,” I said when I noticed Vito was watching me a little too closely, almost waiting for me to react or say anything at all. Then I turned to him and asked the question that kept flashing in my mind. “So, if you know EJ is the one asking, and he’s your friend, why don’t you just ask him for details?” It felt like a no-brainer to me, and I was sure it had crossed Vito’s mind, so why didn’t he do it?

“This is business. I can’t run to him and start fishing, even if we are friendly.” Vito joined Carmine at the bar. “Want something?” the oblivious bastard finally asked me.

I shook my head as Vito fixed himself a drink. “No, thanks.”

Vito sucked a sip through his teeth. “Well, I’m no better off than before I called you two idiots. Thanks for that.”

Carmine lifted his glass and looked into it as he remained standing. “Well, I am. And I’ve got work to do because I don’t think we can take another hit like we’re going to be by acquiring Raf Briggs’s equine centers, even if it is just an investment.” He tipped his glass back and downed his drink in one gulp before walking to the door.

Personally, that was a deal I loathed, but for my own reasons. This one just prompted more questions as to what the hell our father was up to, because if I knew anything, it was that Santo only did something if Santo wanted to.

Unless his age was starting to catch up to him and he was slipping. Although, I strongly suspected it was more likely he was up to some shady shit. Either way, I knew he didn’t deserve to be CEO any longer. And his actions might’ve been just what I needed to make my bid to oust him and take the role for myself. See, we were in the era of late-stage capitalism and nepotism ran rampant, so I stood a real chance of going from pawn to king at my father’s expense.

It was time I went to the board and called a crucial vote of no confidence in Santo Deluca. Too bad that meant going to the Chairman of the Board. Otherwise known as Uncle Elio.

Fortunately, I knew just the brother to help me get it done, and this time, it wasn’t Lorenzo.

Chapter 13

catastrophic ripples

BROOKLYN

None of the other Deluca estates, of which there were many, had a lore as impressive and terrifying as this one. The infamous headquarters for the mysterious and powerful Italian family was a sprawling residence in Westchester County. Built on nearly two acres of land, it was not only a masterpiece but a legacy. Yet another one to fear as well as appreciate.

This wasn’t my first time entering the secluded property and passing the security personnel at the custom electric gate. I’d spent plenty of time here with Capri, even Siena, who had liked to play the role of martyr, saying she was the third wheel when, in reality, she was another friendly face.

Sadly, that didn’t change the fact that it was a house of horrors. Comfort wasn’t something that enveloped you within the walls of the mansion. It was spacious with more than seven bedrooms and bathrooms, exquisite grounds with an Italian-style garden, everything having been imported from their country of origin, and a driveway that was the size of my house growing up. Although, factually speaking, I’d previously been informed it could hold up to fifteen cars. Except I had it on good authority that neither Santo nor Cecilia frequented the driver’s seat, each having their own drivers and town cars.

The maddening way this place was like a funhouse of mirrors aside, I had a responsibility to make an appearance at Sunday night dinner and present myself as Marco’s soon-to-be wife. For any other family, Sunday night dinner would have held a more personal meaning, a lovely way to start a new week. While that was what outsiders knew it as, anyone who had ever had the displeasure of gracing this dining room table knew otherwise. There was an understanding that even as adults, the children would show up so they remained a consistent presence in their lives. In a different setting than the corporate offices.

Because not every Sunday night dinner was mandatory, many of their children didn’t come. I happened to know Marco made it his mission to skip a majority of them. My best assumption was he saw his absence as a way to get away from Santo’s blustering.

Unfortunately, with eyes on this place, it was good for public perception that we arrived together and left together, only after it was well into the evening.

Running a hand over my décolletage, I thought fondly of the ruby and diamond-clustered serpent head I had chosen to coil around my neck. It was my way of tying Marco’s choice of a maroon button-down shirt into my look while accenting the white plaid short-sleeve cardigan and maxi skirt I’d worn.

There wasn’t much else to do since antipasti was being served. Naturally, they had staff, culinary geniuses, who would cook for them every other day of the week. Not Sunday evening, though. It was the exception, leaving the tedious task of cooking for and feeding a multitude of people to Cecilia. However, she wasn’t alone in it tonight. Santo’s older sister, Zia3 Mary, had assisted, even staying to enjoy the fruits of her labor.

Every sound, even the faintest of noises, was amplified in the silence as if I was taking in an opera caught between booming arias. No one dared to shatter it either, putting us all out of our misery. Rather, it continued as platters of various meats and cheeses, olives, roasted red peppers, stuffed artichokes, and toasted bread made its way onto the solid walnut table.

Marco tensed, his sculpted arm wrapped around the back of my chair as his hand rested on my shoulder. The only move he had made since we had sat down was volleying his gaze up, shooting it straight at Santo, who looked every bit the venomous creature he had a reputation of being. Donning a black and gray plaid suit, he stewed, his bushy eyebrows drawn together as his dark eyes roamed slowly around the table.

Siena was on my other side, so he looked at her closely, following Marco and myself. Siena had more complexity to her than Capri. She was wildly driven by others’ actions. Their betrayal. Their devotion. Their loyalty. Being protective of those she considered her inner circle was practically second nature to her. Although it wasn’t without its downside. Oftentimes, it led her to make decisions she otherwise wouldn’t have made, all in the name of love.

If I didn’t know any better, I would have said she could feel his eyes on her and was purposefully staring away. She remained still, her hands in the lap of her white leather plunge jumpsuit.

Dario scooted his chair back, buttoning his black suit jacket, as he made a scene. “Well, I’ve had about enough of this mourning session,” he exclaimed, causing everyone’s gazes to wander toward him. Part of me wondered if that was what he wanted all along. He had a tendency to ensure his presence was known and remembered, whether for good or bad reasons. He wore rings on practically all of his fingers, a silver skull on his middle finger captivating me the most. “That is what this was intended to be, right? A wake?” A low and dark chuckle escaped him as he mindlessly rapped his knuckles on the table.

“This is not the time,” Vito growled, clenching his hands together on top of the table, his elbows leaning against it improperly. He glowered, his eyes narrowing to something thinner than slits. “Sit down and stop making a fool of yourself.”

Surprisingly, there was an empty chair beside Vito. Of course, it was assumed Lisa Marie would have been joining us. Perhaps she had been tied up with something else or had a prior commitment she couldn’t get out of. I wasn’t naïve about the predicaments in their marriage. They had been going through a rough patch for a while. Frankly, I thought it was more than that. Not that either one of them would confess to it or seek assistance from a counselor. They were both private, and Vito wouldn’t have made a step that could potentially hurt the bottom line of the company. One day, it would be his, or at least that was the belief.

Sucking off the breadcrumbs of an artichoke leaf, Rocco grumbled something under his breath. When he swallowed, though, he tossed the leaf off to the side and said what was on his mind. “If this is a wake, dare I say the tone would be a lot lighter, more casual, while paying respect to the departed, of course.”