“How can we fix it?” Guilio asks.
Crossing the room, I return to my seat next to him, sinking down into the cool leather of the sofa.
“I’m not sure there is a way to fix it,” I tell him. Digging my thumb and finger into my eye sockets I massage the headache that’s filtered its way into my skull. “Enzo is out for blood, and he won’t stop until someone aside from him is feeling the pain he’s feeling.”
“He still grieves his father,” Papà adds.
“Should we worry about his threats?” Guilio asks. “Would he actually kidnap Paladino’s daughter?”
“No,” I say without hesitation. Not because I wouldn't put it past Enzo to do something stupid, but because I would never letanythinghappen to Vinnie.
Guilio nods, and from my periphery Papà gives me a look I can’t read.
We fall silent again, and moments later, the ringing of the doorbell echoes through the halls.
“That’ll be Aunt Andrea,” Guilio says to no one in particular. Standing, he crosses the room and leaves, letting the door click closed behind him much softer than Enzo had.
As soon as he’s gone, Papà pierces me with a heavy gaze. “I’ve been meaning to speak to you.”
“Oh?”
“I want you to reconsider your residency. Re-enter the program and come work at my hospital—hell, any hospital.”
Internally, I groan.
I am not prepared for this conversation.
The last thing I want is to lie to my father, so I opt for the truth. Or at least a form of the truth.
“Papà, as I have told you, I am not sure a residency is the right avenue for my long-term goals.”
“Which are?” He leans back against his leather office chair, his arms crossed over his chest. The look on his face tells me he is serious about this conversation, but over the years I have come to realize that although I hold the utmost respect for my father, I am also an adult.
“Not in the confines of a hospital, Papà.” Adjusting the cuff on my shirt, I roll it to my elbow before repeating the process with the other. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll go say happy birthday to Andrea.”
My father’s eyes burn a hole through the silk-like cotton of my shirt as I leave his office. On the other side of the door, I can breathe a little easier.
Keeping my occupation from him feels like slicing a knife through my own heart—painful and wrong—but I fear the reaction he may have if I tell him Iampracticing medicine, just not in the way he would want me to.
Despite the years-long feud between our family and the Paladinos, Papà is very much a “by the book” type of man who holds himself to a very high standard of ethics. He’s always led with his moral compass, so if I were to tell him his son wasillegally practicing medicine in an unmarked clinic, he’d lose his mind.
When I reach the kitchen, I find the women of my family leaning against the large kitchen island, sipping glasses of wine as they chat. My youngest brother, Federico, is rummaging through the refrigerator, but Guilio is nowhere to be found, nor is my cousin.
“Happy birthday,” I tell my aunt, bending down to kiss her on the cheek. Her dark brown hair is in a sleek twist at the nape of her neck. She’s wearing a hunter green dress that brings out the golden flecks in her eyes. “How old are you today? Thirty-one? Thirty-two?”
Her boisterous laugh fills the kitchen. “How dare you! I’m not a day over twenty-eight, thank you.”
“Ah, yes, that’s right. I forgot we’re so close in age.”
“You’re damn straight we are.” She takes another sip of her wine. “Where’s Enz? You two are never too far from each other. Is he not here yet?”
From my peripheral, I see Mamma grip the stem of her glass tighter. I’m sure she saw Enzo storm out mere minutes before Andrea’s arrival.
“He should be back any time,” I answer simply, giving her a curt smile before I head into the attached dining room.
My eyes are on the bar cart when I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket.
Before I reach for it, I carefully pour myself two fingers of whiskey, swirling the glass as I meander into the study and take a seat in front of the roaring fire.
