“Aren’t we supposed to be leaving?” I say.
“Right!” Aida pulls on her other sneaker and jumps up.
As we hurry down the stairs, she’s still pestering me. “But what if you don’t like the color, or—”
I hustle her into the car, saying, “Aida. I work literally all the time. Either on campaign projects or one of our numerous businesses. Some of which, as you very well know, are more difficult and hazardous than others. When I socialize, it’s at events where I need to network. I can’t remember the last time I ran an errand or did anything for entertainment.”
Aida sits quietly for a minute. Far longer than she usually stays quiet. Then she says, “That’s sad.”
I snort, shaking my head at her. “I like being busy. It’s not sad, it’s purposeful.”
“What’s the point, though?” she says. “If you’re not having any fun along the way.”
“Well,” I say, giving her a sidelong look. “I don’t consider Lord of the Rings marathons to be that fun.”
I can’t help taking a little poke at her, because I know very well that Aida is often bored or under-stimulated. It’s why she’s always getting into trouble.
Sure enough, she doesn’t retort with the usual flippant response. Instead, she bites the edge of her thumbnail, pensive rather than annoyed.
“I can do more than this, you know,” she says.
“I actually do know that,” I reply.
She glances over at me, checking to see if I’m mocking her.
I’m not.
“I see how smart you are. You had a better read on Madeline Breck than I did,” I tell her.
“I have a lot of good ideas,” she says. “Papa was always so afraid of me getting hurt. But I’m as smart as Dante or Nero. Or Seb. I’m smart enough not to get myself killed.”
“As long as you can keep your temper,” I say, half-smiling.
“I don’t—” Aida says hotly, breaking off when she sees that I’m teasing her. Mostly. “I don’t have a temper,” she says with dignity. “You don’t know what it’s like to always be the smallest dog in the fight. I have to attack first, and hardest. I never had much softness in me. I never have, and I never could.”
I can’t i
magine her soft. It would ruin everything about her.
“Anyway,” Aida says quickly. “I still don’t know why you want to be Alderman. The Griffins are richer than god. You’ve got friends all across the city. Your territory’s secure. Why in the fuck do you want to sit in an office and deal with all that bullshit?”
“Why do you think people spend a half a million dollars campaigning for an Alderman’s seat, when the salary is $122,304?” I ask her.
“Well, obviously you can fuck around with zoning and tax law and suit your business interests, as well as handing around favors to everybody else.”
“Right,” I say, encouraging her to go on in guessing.
“It just doesn’t seem worth the trouble. You can get all that shit with bribes and trading favors. Or good old-fashioned violence.”
“But you’re always at the mercy of somebody else,” I tell her. “The incorruptible detective, or the greedy politician that got a better offer from someone else. Real power isn’t working the system. It’s running the system. Building it yourself, even.”
I pause, remembering a little of our overlapping family history.
“You remember when the Italians ran this city?” I say to her. “Capone had the mayor on his payroll. Imagine if Capone was the mayor. Or the governor. Or the fucking president.”
“I don’t like how you use the past tense to refer to our glory days,” Aida says lightly. “But I take your point. I guess it makes sense why your dad was keen to make an agreement between our families. It’s not about this election. It’s about the one after. If you want to run the whole city, you really do need us.”
“Yes,” I say quietly.