Page 89 of The Beast Who Begged Me

“He better be,” I call after him, but I find myself smiling when I turn back to the mirror. I leave the tie exactly as he’s arranged it.

It’s time.

I head down to the kitchen. Caligula chose it himself, saying his grandfather’s study was the wrong place. He wanted to start a new tradition, and he’s the Don, so I just nodded along.

Ferraro’s waiting for me at the kitchen door. He says my name, loud, like an announcement, and I hear shuffling and shifting chairs in the room beyond as every man in there gets to his feet. Ferraro leads me in. I stop just inside the doorway, one hand still tugging at my cuff, and look at them. Giordano. His kid. The other Clemenzas who swore their vows at the barbershop, standing beside the chairs set out along the walls.

Then I see Caligula, and forget everything else. He’s standing next to the table wearing a dark suit and that big gold ring. There’s a white cloth on the table, a loaf of bread, and a shallow dish of olive oil. And next to him, on the wall, is that collage of blue and gold plates. Seems right that they’re here as a reminder.

I’m not much for formalities. Made my vows to the Giulianos with a bunch of other men, muttering the words I was told to say, then kissing the ring, then going out and getting trashed with them after.

But Caligula has brought everyone here, made a whole ceremony out of it.

Like he thinks I’m worth it.

I walk toward him. My shoes sound too loud on the floor, and there’s nowhere to put my hands without looking like I’m nervous. Which I’m not. I know exactly what I’m here to do.

Caligula watches me come, the little smile at his mouth getting harder to ignore with every step. He looks real fucking pleased with himself. For a second I think about how I’d like to get my hand around the back of his neck and give him something else to do with that mouth, but I stop the thought.

It’s his turn to be the one giving orders.

I stop in front of him at the table’s edge. “Damiano Orsini,” he says. “Do you come to this Family of your own free will?”

“I do.” I unbandage my hand, right down to the skin. I want to show every motherfucker in that room that I’m no Giuliano. Not anymore. I hold it up to show.

Most of them already heard about it, but one or two lean in closer to get a good look. The mark is still healing, but the shape is clear enough now. A jagged “C.”

I like it.

He holds out his hand. I take it, feeling the hard edge of the ring against my fingers…

And then I go down on my knees in front of him.

His grip tightens. “Dami,” he says, too quietly for anyone else to hear. “You don’t have to kneel down.”

“I know.” I look up at him. “Go on.” I tighten my fingers around his and wait.

“Then give me your word.” His voice is steady again, carrying to every corner of the room.

“I enter the Clemenza Family alive and I will leave it dead. Your enemies are my enemies. Your people are my people. If I break faith with you, may my soul burn for all eternity. I give you my loyalty for the rest of my life.” I turn my hand in his, letting him take its weight. “And if I betray this oath, my life is forfeit.”

“Before these witnesses, I receive you into my Family,” Caligula responds. “Your enemies are my enemies. Your people are my people. If I break faith with you, may my soul burn for all eternity. No man will harm you without answering to me.”

I came here ready to give him whatever he asked for. I hadn’t thought about what he might give in return.

He granted Seb a place on Clemenza ground. Your people are my people. He’s already kept that part of his word.

Caligula reaches over to take up the bread. He breaks it open, the crust cracking loud, and a few crumbs fall onto the white cloth. He tears off a piece, dips it into the oil, and brings it to my mouth.

“Eat at my table,” he says. I open my mouth for him. His fingers brush my lips as I take the bread, and I keep looking at him while I chew. The oil is sharp and rich on my tongue, the bread soft and delicious.

I get it now, why he wanted the kitchen. The study was where Lou Clemenza judged his men. Bullied them. Kept them on their knees. Caligula wants his men to understand what Family really means.

It’s this. A place at the table, and food for all.

“Stand with my Family,” he goes on. He tugs at my hand, a silent command, and I get to my feet.

He breaks off another piece of the bread and puts it into my hand. I dip it into the dish, like he did, then lift it toward him.