Page 37 of Vows of Blood

"We're following several leads." I set one contract to the side and pick up the next.

"A lead." He steeples his fingers, toying with me, about to deliver what he thinks is a killer blow. “Is that what you call her?”

With an angry flourish, I sign my name at the bottom of the last page and stand. Turning my back on my father, refusing to show him the anger that rises inside me at his mere presence, I stand and shove the documents back into the filing cabinet then lock it before pocketing the key.

"These things take time.”

"Time is a luxury we don't have." He rises from my chair with more effort than it should take a sitting Don, crossing to the one-way glass that overlooks the club floor below. "Weakness invites challengers. If people think you can’t handle this, that you’re distracted by a woman, they won’t believe you can handle running the entire region."

If he knew I’d visited Sienna last night, he'd have said it outright. He's fishing, probing for cracks in my composure, but I've perfected the art of giving him nothing. That’s why he hates me.

And that I’m not ready? Those are his opinions, not anyone else's. Most of the other families are eager to see him step down, wanting to move forward instead of remaining stuck in the past.

But he continues to play his games.

“They question your focus,” he warns, hinting at a conclusion I won’t like.

“They can question me directly, to my face, if they are so concerned.” We both know he’s the mysterious they in this conversation.

Father’s fists ball at his sides.

Ten years ago, he got so furious that he put me in the hospital for a week. And that’s why I hate him. Once I recovered, I told him if he ever raised a fist to me again, I’d kill him with my bare hands. And he knows I meant it.

But while he might despise me for my defiance and strong-will, he knows I’m the safest pair of hands to lead the family forward and keep the Calvano’s in the wealth and power he’s accustomed to. That doesn’t mean he likes it.

We’re still standing toe to toe, staring at each other with barely concealed hatred, when Nico appears in the doorway. The relaxed demeanor he constantly portrays falters almost imperceptibly.

"Sorry to interrupt," he drawls, not sorry at all, but trying to diffuse some of the palpable tension in the room. "But Luca, we need to discuss the wedding arrangements. People are calling the house to find out what's happening. Carmella’s at her wit’s end."

I walk behind the desk, reclaiming the space as mine. "Nothing's happening. Kate is still in the hospital.”

Nico stares at me blankly. “Exactly. She’s not going to be walking down the aisle any time soon. Therefore, neither are you.”

My father’s lips curl up into a nasty smile as he regards me, interested in hearing my answer.

“The arrangements stand. Everyone’s aware of what the situation is, they’re just looking for gossip.” Hoping Carmella will give them a tidbit of information they can trade like social currency. “Don’t you think it would be insensitive and potentially inflammatory to our already precarious relationship with the Irish, to start canceling the wedding while she's still fighting for her life?"

Nico still looks confused. “But…”

“Or maybe, we should ask the caterers and florists how much notice they’ll need to adjust their plans if it’s a funeral we need instead.”

Nico finally gets my point. “I see what you mean.” But he lingers, still unsure what to do. "So, we tell people what?"

I stare at him and wonder, not for the first time, if he might be a sociopath. He can be charming and witty, yet seems to lack basic emotional intelligence.

"Thank them for their concern. Our focus is on praying for her and hoping her condition improves. The wedding and worrying about getting deposits back is the last thing on our minds at this difficult time."

Nico clears his throat. "Apparently, Kate's mother is at the hospital to oversee her daughter's care personally. Carmella is arranging accommodations for her nearby.”

“Fuck.” That’s all I need. Finn blowing up my phone, and Maeve watching my every move.

My father's composure flickers, just for a second, at the mention of the almost mythical Maeve O'Sullivan.

"Well, that settles it. I’ve decided to delay my return to Italy and help steady the ship during this difficult time. With no wedding, the handover will have to wait," he says, feigning paternal concern that fools no one.

Nico makes a sound that might be a curse or a cough. "How generous of you."

The look my father gives him could curdle milk, but Nico just smiles blandly and holds the door open.