Page 294 of Ricardo

And now Roberto sits across from us, calm as a judge, and tells us Elio regretted the broken relationship with his brother until his last breath.

I do not know what to do with that.

Two brothers. Two versions of the same ruin. One dying with hatred in his heart, the other dying with regret.

What would our lives have been if Francis had chosen regret instead?

What would Luca’s life have been if Elio had told the truth?

What would any of us have become if our fathers had been better men?

Mario’s expression gives nothing away, but I know him too well. I see the thought pass through him. The same one passing through me.

Francis raised us in the shadow of an enemy.

So we came here expecting an enemy.

Elio raised his sons in the shadow of a brother he missed.

That difference matters.

It may explain things I have never allowed myself to consider. Why Luca did not treat our arrival in Chicago as a declaration of war, as we had expected. And why he sent his son, his brother, and his son-in-law to us instead of turning away.

Lorenzo’s voice is careful. “Your father spoke of Francis?”

Roberto’s gaze moves to him. “Rarely. But when he did, it was never casually.”

Vito’s face remains unreadable. “My father was raised to understand that blood can be difficult without becoming disposable.”

Something hard twists in my chest.

Francis raised us to understand the opposite.

The bond between the four of us was something we created in spite of him.

I asked the question I know we're all thinking. “And how does he know that we can be trusted? We were raised by Francis, after all.”

Vito gives one of his terror-inducing, spine-twisting smiles again. “If you're thinking he's overly trusting or sentimental, you'd be mistaken.” He turns and locks eyes with Mario again. “You don't strike me as a stupid man. I have to assume you didn't make it to the position you're in by fucking over powerful allies with long arms.”

Mario’s eyes hold his.

“No,” he says. “I did not.”

Vito gives a slight nod, as if that is all he needed.

Roberto draws the conversation back with practiced ease.

“Good,” he says. “Then we can stop discussing whether this is friendship or family, and focus on what it actually is.”

Mario’s gaze shifts to him. “Which is?”

“A useful alignment,” Roberto says. “For now.”

Vito leans back in his chair. “And a man in Connecticut who just made himself everyone’s problem.”

“Aside from blood, what is it that you get out of helping us with this? The Winthrops are very powerful,” Diego asks.

Vito considers for a moment. “Well, initially, it was to come here and feel the situation out. But, the more you talk about this fuckhead, the more I think removing him from society would be a public service.”