“Hadn’t he learnt from years of working with our father that trying to outdo the great Salvatore Abbiati will never work?” I ask rhetorically, shaking my head.
I remember when I was just a little girl and running into the grand room to see my father fire a bullet into one of his many men’s forehead. It was there, at such a tender age, that I realized my father was not a force to be reckoned with. He was not a man easily reasoned with.
It was from then I understood why so many called him Dio del Sangue. My father is the Blood God, for all intents and purposes. That day not only marked my father as a murderer, but it marked the change in how my father treated me. I witnessed such a horrific trauma, and I never even so much as shed a tear for such a callous action. I remember the jolt that sent me backwards, the rigidness the sound of the bullet caused when it split the air into a million pieces, but I never ran screaming – I didn’t even so much as cower from my father. Looking back, I regret never shedding just one small sliver of weakness. The horrors I was driven to see, the things I have lived through, have changed the course of my life greatly. Had I ran screaming, I would merely have become the doted daughter. The one my father protected from all nine circles of hell. Had I just shown vulnerability, I wouldn’t now be his secret weapon.
“People are stupid,” Giovanni states between tense jaws bringing me out of my mental trance. I watch as he reaches into his side pocket. He pulls out his trusted switch blade – the handle a symbolic blood red, the crimson beautifully hugging a blade that has killed many – and flicks the knife out, the light glinting from its razor edge. He cuts into the apple that’s been sitting in front of him since I came in with precision, cutting a delicate edge into the succulent fruit. “You’ll do well to remember that people get stupid when they work for greed or allow their heart to win over their head.”
“Good thing I was taught otherwise,” I comment and swirl the wine around in its glass. I love the aftertaste the wine leaves lingering in my mouth. “What bottle did you open tonight?”
“A 1985 Alzero,” Giovanni retorts and cuts another chunk of his apple. “It’s one of the finest I could find in the wine cellar that I fancied. We were supposed to have dinner almost an hour ago, but something occurred, and as you can see, you’re the only one to show up.”
“And I get left in your company, too,” I quip, trying to keep my tone light and sarcastic. “Lucky me.”
Giovanni looks over at me, and I can see his detest mar his face as if I’ve inflicted a little torture, but it doesn’t last. “Yeah, I’m not much happier about it.”
I roll my eyes, and I welcome the voices I hear approaching the room. I see the door open to highlight Enzo, the eldest of us all, entering. He’s teasing our baby brother and trying to get him to break into, at least, a little smile, but Manuel is resistant. I don’t call out to gain attention; Enzo just looks to me as he breaks away and heads over to me.
“Hey sis,” Enzo greets me, planting a kiss onto the top of my head. “The team were impressed with the lack of cleaning they had to do for you.” He stands behind me, hands on protectively on my shoulders as he speaks again, this time squeezing my shoulders tightly with praise. “Apparently, you’re getting better every time.”
“I’m sure Papà will be pleased,” I mock and finish my drink off then twist my head to look up at him. “Speaking of, where he is?”
“I was told to come and get you all and take you through to the meeting room.” Enzo’s voice darkens and becomes somewhat stiffened. I can see he knows what we’re about to witness. As the eldest, Enzo Abbiati is both the protector of myself and our youngest brother, Manuel, and the one that our father schemes with. He doesn’t agree with it, but as the firstborn son, Enzo has a weight of responsibility that’s been on his shoulders since birth. He is the younger clone of our father with dark hair and olive eyes and a passionate nature. Although, he doesn’t exercise his passion like our father – considering he’s the heir to the Abbiati throne – Enzo is very much a peacekeeper. He used to dabble in the murder and fighting, but now he’s the conversationalist, the brains, the guardian we all need. “We can continue this after.”