Page 72 of His Cruel Exception

He listens for a few seconds while Davide closes the door behind us and walks around to the driver’s side, but I can’t hear what Martha is saying from where I’m sitting. Alexander’s expression changes slightly, his brows drawing together, and then he pulls the phone away from his ear and taps the speaker.

“Say that again, Mom.”

“I got two letters from your father. One was addressed to me and the other to you. Do you want me to bring it along to the party?” Martha says from the other end of the call.

Alexander looks at me. He does that often, always expecting me to tell him which choice to make, and no matter how many times I try to make him understand that I want him to depend on me without taking away his ability to choose for himself, the habit refuses to die. I lift my eyebrows at him, and he rolls his eyes.

I love that my little stripper is so bold now.

“Did you read yours?” he asks his mother.

“Yes. It’s an apology letter. Maybe it's the same for you.” she says.

Alexander shrugs, even though Martha cannot see him. “I’m not interested.”

“Okay dear. I’ll see you soon.”

The call ends, and he lowers the phone into his lap before turning toward me again. “Do you think I should read it?”

“I actually don’t know. Your relationship with your father is something I’ve never experienced and therefore cannot advise on.”

He chuckles. “Why so serious?” Then he slides closer until his thigh presses against mine. “By the way, what do they do to them in that place? I never thought he would even think to apologize to us.”

I look down at him and smile. “I don’t want to scare you, baby. Not after what happened with Vincent.”

Alexander visibly shivers, and my smile widens. I left Vincent to rot until last week, when I finally took Alexander and my cousins to the warehouse to finish him off. By then, there was barely anything left of the man. He had lost so much weight that his clothes hung loosely from his body, his bones pronounced beneath his skin, and whatever joy he once had was long gone.

I wouldn’t have taken Alexander along, but he insisted on coming, though I’m sure he regretted that decision the second I picked up the container of fuel. I poured it over Vincent without rushing, ignored his begging, then struck a match and watched him burn. Alexander shrieked, spun around, and ran straight back to the car.

He ripped me a new one the entire drive back, furious that I had traumatized him for life when, according to him, I could have “shot him like a normal person” instead of turning Vincent’s death into something he was certain would haunt his dreams if he had stayed to watch. I spent the next few days apologizing, which I'm not good at, but Alexander refused to let it go, insisting I should have known how much violence bothered him. When my words stopped getting me anywhere and he was still determined to be difficult, I fucked forgiveness into him.

Davide drives through the gates of Father’s estate, and Alexander straightens beside me. I glance over and have to hide my smile. He smooths a hand down the front of his suit and checks his tie again. He has been nervous about tonight for days, treating this party like some kind of formal assessment he needs to pass, when the truth is that he could probably insult half my family and they would still adore him.

They actually already do. He just hasn’t realized it yet.

Davide follows the long driveway toward the house, passing rows of parked cars before stopping near the side entrance. The party is being held behind the house, where Father had the gardens and terrace opened up for the night. Long tables have been arranged beneath strings of warm lights, the bar is fully stocked, and enough food has been laid out.

It might be Father’s party, but his birthday is only part of the reason everyone is here. We’re also celebrating wiping out the Falcos. We buried our dead last month, and settled every outstanding matter that came with the war. Nobody who died for us left behind a wife, child, parent, or sibling wondering how they would survive without them.

Alexander slips his hand into mine as we make our way through the crowd, and several people turn to look at us. Most of them already know who he is, even if they haven’t formally met him yet. Father waves us over from where he is standing near one of the tables, and I feel Alexander tense beside me again. I squeeze his hand and he breathes out through his nose before we approach.

Father shakes Alexander’s hand before giving him the same assessing look he gives everyone new. “Glad to see that Antonio stopped hiding you away,” he says.

The tips of Alexander’s ears turn pink. “Nice to meet you, sir.”

“Sir?” Dad laughs. “None of that, son. Call me Gaetano.”

Martha joins us then, and after everyone exchanges greetings, I leave her talking with Father while Alexander and I begin making the rounds.

We start with my uncles, who decide tonight is the perfect opportunity to recount every humiliating story they’ve collected about me since childhood, and I eventually have to drag Alexander away before they can do any more damage.

We find my cousins near the fountain, gathered around one of the stone benches with a bottle of whiskey being passed between them.

“You came at the right time,” Carmine says.

He picks two clean glasses, fills it and passes them over. Alexander takes his before drifting toward Logan, who is standing beside Enzo.

Nobody knows what the fuck is going on between those two. Logan and Enzo have been spending more time together lately, but every time one of us asks Enzo about it, he gives the same useless shrug before changing the subject.