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I touched Ines’ shoulder gently. “I’ll have a talk with him.”

“He won’t change his mind. He gave the Scuderis his word,” she whispered, her shoulders starting to shake under more sobs.

I stood and walked out. Ines was a trophy for Jacopo. He and his father had been asking Father to give her hand in marriage to Jacopo for years.

I headed for Father’s office, trying to remain calm. Nothing infuriated Father more than when he couldn’t draw a reaction out of me. In recent years a power shift had happened, it was gradual, but definitely there. He couldn’t punish me with pain anymore, not after years of numbing me to it. I knocked at his door, my knuckles stinging from the force of it. Barging in and demanding answers was what I really wanted to do, but Father was still Capo, still master of this house, and expected respect from everyone around.

“Come in,” Father drawled.

I schooled my face into a mask of calm. It wouldn’t be wise to give Father ammunition against me. Stepping inside, my eyes fell on Father who was sitting in his desk chair and looking down at his calendar. We looked very much alike—a fact people never stopped mentioning. Same cold blue eyes, blond hair, and aloof attitude. Every morning I woke, I swore to myself I’d be a better man. A better Capo. A better husband. A better father.

“I’m trying to decide when we’ll hold both weddings. Your sister’s next year and yours the year after.” He looked up with a calculating smile. Ines was too young to marry. “Or would you prefer to wait a couple more years before marrying? You’re only nineteen. Twenty-one then. Maybe you need a bit more time to enjoy other women.”

Carla would be nineteen in two years, one year older than Ines, and it would be unfair toward her to make her wait, and I didn’t want to. I wanted Carla. “No. I don’t need to wait.” I paused. “But I’m not here to discuss my wedding.”

Father tilted his head in mock curiosity. “Why are you here then?”

He knew damn well why I was here. Stifling my annoyance, I said, “To discuss Ines’ marriage with you. Jacopo isn’t someone we should consider bringing into our family.”

“As the son of my Consigliere and your future Consigliere, it’s the expected bond. The Scuderis have been waiting for Ines. Jacopo is very eager to marry your sister. He’s been refusing every other woman so far. Rocco is already married and will certainly soon have an heir. Jacopo deserves to be rewarded for his patience.”

I didn’t mention that Rocco already had two daughters. For my father, girls weren’t worth anything, which was why he treated Ines like a trophy to hand around. I shook my head. “He’s too old for Ines, Father. And his reputation leaves a lot to be desired. Maybe you haven’t heard the rumors but I’ve been working with Jacopo long enough to know he’s a sadist and psychopath. You can’t allow Ines to be at his mercy.”

Father gave me a look as if I didn’t understand the first thing about life. “If Ines answers to his demands, she’ll be fine. Each of us has to make sacrifices. She should be proud that she’s given to someone of his status.”

I regarded him, realizing he wouldn’t let me talk him out of this. “You’re making a mistake.”

He raised his finger. “And you should remember your place, Dante. You are my heir, true, but I’m still the Capo of the Outfit, still the master of this house.”

I swallowed my anger. I needed to be clever about this. Arguing with Father wouldn’t change a thing. I gave a terse nod.

“You’re working with Jacopo and Rocco tomorrow. You should congratulate him.”

“I will,” I gritted out.Later that day Pietro called me and asked for a meeting. I knew what this was about. Given Jacopo’s tendency to brag about everything, he’d likely told everyone about his bond to Ines.

We met at the bar of one of our riverboat casinos for a drink. After dropping off my drink in front of me, the bartender kept his distance, sensing my dark mood.

Pietro was a little over two years older than me and currently working in Chicago before he’d take over as Underboss of Minneapolis from his father in a few years. I was nursing my whiskey when he sank down on the stool beside me, motioning for the barkeeper to give him the same I had.

I glanced toward him.

His shirt was wrinkled and his dark hair all over the place. The second the tumbler sat in front of him, he grabbed it and downed it in one gulp. Then his somber eyes met mine. “Don’t let Jacopo get his hands on Ines, Dante.”

I turned the glass around on the bar. Pietro had asked for Ines’ hand twice. As future Underboss of Minneapolis, he was a good choice. He was only six years older than her, not twelve like Jacopo, and most importantly, he wasn’t a sadist. “Why do you want Ines?” I asked him tiredly.


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