Tonight, we bypass the busy first-floor dining area and head straight upstairs to the lavish private room. Inside, Rafaele and Nero are already seated. Rafaele’s at the head of the table with Nero to his right.
I frown. Rafaele’s in Papà’s seat, and Papà isn’t shy about telling people to move. They rise to greet us, and when we all settle down, Papà simply takes the seat to Rafaele’s left. It’s strange. I can’t remember the last time he didn’t sit at the head of the table.
But no one else seems to notice except me.
Cleo reaches for a bottle of wine on the table and fills her glass nearly to the rim. She doesn’t offer a drop to anyone else. She’s not even supposed to be drinking since she’s only eighteen, but no one in La Trattoria enforces those rules when it comes to the family.
My fiancé’s gaze narrows on the glass, and his lips thin with displeasure.
I hang my purse off the back of her chair and whisper into her ear, “You’re being rude.”
She just shrugs and takes a big gulp.
“Gemma, how’s the wedding planning going?” Nero asks as the waiters file in with heaping plates of antipasti and salad.
“Very well. This week we settled on the centerpieces and selected the cake.”
“Chocolate?”
“White chocolate and raspberry.”
Nero grins. “Good choice.”
“Have you finalized the guest list on your side?” Mamma spears some salumi with her fork before passing the plate to Nero.
“Cousin Emiliano and his family had to drop out at the last minute, but the rest are all confirmed,” Nero says.
“Cousin Emiliano? Didn’t we meet him a few months ago at that party at your place, Rafaele?”
The plate of antipasti makes it to my fiancé, who doesn’t take anything and passes it to Papà. Great. If he doesn’t like the food here, there’s no hope he’ll like my cooking. I can’t hold a candle to Chef Caruso.
Rafaele takes a sip of his wine while Nero answers for him. “You did.”
“I thought he lived around here. Why aren’t they coming?”
Nero shakes his head. “He was in a car accident. Some fucker put him in a coma.”
Mamma makes a disapproving click of her tongue. “Drivers these days. Did Stefano tell you about what happened just a few days ago—”
Cleo sticks two fingers into her mouth and whistles. “Hey! More wine please.”
Christ. Heat travels over my cheeks. My sister is fully capable of acting like a civilized human being, so she’s doing this on purpose. I can understand why she would around Ludovico—she’s trying to scare him off—but why now? Is she just trying to embarrass Mamma?
The waiter hurries over with a bottle of red.
“She’s had enough.”
They’re the first words out of my fiancé’s mouth since we sat down, and they make the entire table go still.
The waiter swallows and pulls the bottle back. “Of course, Mr. Messero.”
“Hey, stronzo, why are you listening to him?” Cleo snaps. “I said more wine.”
The waiter’s expression turns panicked and uncertain, and beads of sweat appear on his forehead.
“Cleo, settle down,” Mamma says through gritted teeth while Papà observes my sister with a dark look in his eyes.
I reach over to place a hand on Cleo’s arm, but she jerks it away and leans over the table to glare at Rafaele. “Who the hell gave you permission to control how much I drink?”
“You arrived smelling of booze, and you’ve already downed one overfilled glass since we sat down five minutes ago,” Rafaele says, his voice low. “You’re embarrassing your family.”
“You’re embarrassing yourself by having such a stick up your ass.”
Nero snorts.
I snatch Cleo’s arm and dig my nails in. My sister’s fearlessness borders on stupidity.
“That’s enough,” Papà barks. “We’re having this dinner because there’s something important for us to discuss. Save your tantrum for afterwards, Cleo.”
Cleo opens her mouth to argue, but I hiss, “Stop it.”
She huffs, slumps in her seat, and stuffs a piece of bread into her mouth, her furious gaze still fixed on Rafaele.
My fiancé lifts his glass of wine and takes a slow sip. Is he taunting her? It’s saying something that Cleo can get under Rafaele’s skin.
“What did you want to talk about, Papà?” I ask, trying to dissipate the lingering tension.
Papà wipes his lips with a napkin and sends the waiters out of the room with a single glance.
“What I’m about to say is extremely confidential, and it’s not to leave this room,” he says once the door shuts.
A trickle of unease slides down my spine.
I glance at Cleo, wondering if she knows what this is about, but she gives me a small shake of her head.
“I am naming Rafaele as my successor. When I retire, he will take over as the head of our clan.”
My silverware tumbles out of my hands.
What? I can’t believe what I’m hearing. This is coming out of nowhere.
“Is this a joke?” Cleo sputters. “Vince is your successor.”
“Vince has made it abundantly clear he has no interest in running the business in New York.”
No, that’s not true. Everyone knows that when the time comes, Vince will come back. That’s a given. He might be enjoying his time in Europe, but it was never meant to be a permanent thing.
He won’t let Papà take away his birthright just like that.
The room spins.
“Does Vince know about this?” I force past my dry throat.
Papà straightens his cuffs. “He’s aware.”
“And what was his reaction?”
Papà’s hard gaze lands on me. “Like I already said, he’s shown no interest in this job. Your brother has done nothing to prove to me that he can lead our people.”
Bullshit. Vince has been working abroad for the clan this whole time. He’s managing most of our money. They’re stealing his birthright from him.
Cleo points at Rafaele. “He’s not even related to us. How can he lead the Garzolos when he’s not one himself?”
For once, my sister and I are on the exact same wavelength. She’s voicing my thoughts.
Why Rafaele? Why not someone else?
“What about our uncles?” I demand. Even on the off chance that what Papà’s saying about Vince is true, one of our uncles would step up. I’m sure some of them are itching for an opportunity like this.
“None of the ones that are left are fit for the job,” Papà says. “You know as well as I do that the Riccis thinned our highest ranks.”
Cleo slams her fists on the table. “Are you kidding me? So make them fit! Why would you choose him of all people?”
“Rafaele’s about to become a part of our family. He’s marrying Gemma, and no one will dare call him an outsider once he’s my son-in-law. Rafaele’s already proven himself to be a capable don. He’s become my closest ally in the past six months, and he’s the best man for the job,” Papà says. “It’s as simple as that.”