Page 94 of Damiano De Luca (The Five Syndicates)
Marco pushes Bastian’s hand away. “I also said never to trust boys.”
“Because Brett is a liar.” She scrunches her brows together and tilts her head. “Aren’t you a boy?”
His eyes dart to mine, but I’m content to watch him fumble through fatherhood. I salute him with my beer bottle and take a sip.
His eyes return to Charlotte, who bites her lip and stares at Marco with wide blue eyes. “I think your mom just called you.”
“But I didn’t hear anything.”
“Me neither.” A smirk curves my lips. “Have you ever heard of the term ‘pathological liar,’ Charlie?”
Marco guides Charlotte in Greyson’s direction. “Okay, go play with your brother.”
“But—”
“Go, Charlotte.”
She runs away, just as Raf, who was on the phone with his father-in-law, ambles over to us. He takes in the kids running around; Liv, Lucy, and Minka, lounging near the lake; Ranie, Carina, and Luke by the fire pit; and me, Marco, Bastian, and Asher, chillin’ with beers in our hands—a casual Saturday barbecue.
He shakes his head. “You guys can’t tell me that this isn’t surreal.”
I take in the view with him. “Definitely.”
Seven years ago, a gathering like this never would have been possible. The Andretti-Romano war seemed endless. The Camerino-Rossi war drew more blood than a Red Cross donation van. The De Luca family garnered little respect.
I can’t stand Ren’s mom—hell, Ren still refuses to talk to either of her parents—but Margot Vitali did what she promised. I’ll give her that. She united the five syndicates. Now we have a new generation, who will grow up never having experienced any of our wars. It took me a while to understand how a man like Vincent Romano could be complicit with dethroning Ren’s dad, but watching my daughter play with kids from every syndicate, I get it.
Asher finally peeks his eyes open. “We all wish Sof could be here, man.”
“I miss her.” Raf runs a hand across his face, but he has a half-smile on it as he watches the kids play. That’s how I know he’s okay.
I catch Sadie as she tries to run past me and into the house. “Where do you think you’re going?”
Her arms are crossed, and she looks pissed with a capital P. “To grab my voodoo doll, Daddy!”
“Your what?” I shake my head. “Why?”
“I hate Scarlett!” Her little feet stomp, and it’d be amusing if it was her mom dealing with the temper tantrum, not me. “I hate Scarlett so much!”
Scarlett is Raf’s daughter. She’s the opposite of her mom, which means she’s Raf’s twin. Dark hair, devious smile, and those I-know-something-you-don’t eyes.
“You don’t mean that.”
But Sadie’s eyes form little slits, and shit, maybe she does mean it. For a blonde-haired, blue-eyed angel, she has a streak of fire. One I’ll need to worry about until she’s old and graying. “Scarlett keeps talking to Rowan. Rowan is mine! She’s stealing him from me, Daddy! Scarlett’s a thief.”
Oh, dear God, I hope Scarlett succeeds. Rowan is almost as much trouble as Marco’s son Greyson.
Raf rolls his eyes and mutters, “Asher, I swear, your son better stay away from my daughter.”
Asher takes a sip of his beer, unfazed. “Because he reminds you too much of yourself?”
Before Sofia wrangled Raf, he slept his way around the Rossi territory and New England, where he went to boarding school with Bastian and Marco.
I shake my head and focus on my daughter. “Where did you get a voodoo doll?”
“Everyone has one now!” Sadie crosses her arms and tilts her chin up, looking way older than her five years. “They’re a therapeutic way to channel rage.”
I swear, kids grow up on TV doctors these days. The urge to toss out all the flat screens, tablets, and smartphones in the house grips me again. Last week, Sadie overheard me and Ren fucking in the bedroom. I’m not sure what she made of all the grunting, but she asked if I found a revolutionary anger management regimen.
