Page 34 of Damiano De Luca (The Five Syndicates)
The passing of a caporegime, consiglieri, underboss, or boss was a three-day event. A day of funeral processions. A day of negotiations. A day of celebration. Usually, the syndicate whose member died constituted the only somber party on the day of negotiations. Today, every single face possessed a grave expression.
It was the ultimate show of respect to Vincent Romano.
Only his death could elicit grief in every syndicate.
As the Vitali representative, I sat at the head of the oval table. As leaders of the bereaved syndicate, Gio, Frankie, Eli, and Bastian Romano sat at the opposite end of the table, taking up the most space.
The other four syndicates were allowed one representative each. Marco Camerino on behalf of the Camerino family. Rafaello Rossi on behalf of the Rossi family. Ranieri Andretti on behalf of the Andretti family. And Damiano De Luca on behalf of the De Luca family.
I tried to ignore Damian as I opened the giant book in front of me and began to read. “We are gathered here today to respect the passing of a valued syndicate member.” Electric power coursed through me as I commanded the room, but all I could feel were Damian’s eyes on me.
I swallowed before continuing. “The roundtable proceedings exist to remind us that the passing of Vincent Romano is not an opportunity for malfeasance, revenge, nor avaricious behavior. In a moment, I will open up the discussion for peace talks, starting with the De Luca family and ending with the Romano family. Are we in agreement?”
After a round of “ayes” across the table, I nodded to Damian and asked, “What would the De Luca family like to request?” A snort came from the transcriber, and I cut her with a vicious look. “You may be excused.”
Damian’s eyes burned holes in the side of my face, and I couldn’t meet his stare. I didn’t want to see his reaction to what I’d done for him. I didn’t think I could handle it.
“But—”
“Bring in your replacement on your way out.”
Transcribing for a historic roundtable negotiation was a privilege she clearly didn’t deserve. She may not have believed that a De Luca deserved a seat at the table, but I knew Damian better than anyone else, and no one deserved it more. No one.
As she left, my eyes traveled across the room, the warning clear in them. I had just spoken up for a De Luca when, as the Vitali representative, I was supposed to be the neutral party. I didn’t say anything that favored Damian’s syndicate, but the act of removing the transcriber was close enough for lines to be drawn.
I couldn’t explain it. Hell, I couldn’t control it. It wasn’t just my desire to make up for the past. It was more than that. Damian deserved respect, and I wanted to be the one to help him gain it. Never mind the fact that he had left me this morning and I hadn’t heard from him since.
The replacement transcriber entered the conference room with her head down. She sat at the desk in the corner of the room. Once she scooted her chair in and rested her fingers on the keyboard, I nodded my head to Damian. I finally turned to face him.
He gave me that look. The same look he had given me when I had witnessed his dad punching him, and I’d told him to pick himself up. That he was stronger than his self-pity. (I would always believe that.)
Damian cleared his throat. “The De Luca family declines to put forth an agenda in respect for Vincent Romano’s passing.”
His words hung in the air.
Unprecedented.
The clacking from the transcriber halted. Frankie swore, and Bastian stared at Damian with renewed interest. I could feel the surprise and respect Damian had earned with his words, but I couldn’t emotionally process what he had said.
Damian had passed on an opportunity for leverage. One I knew he desperately needed. He was the only one I’d ever told about Maman and Vincent, and when my eyes met his, I knew he had done this for me. Even when friction existed between us, we looked out for one another. I swore, I’d
never been more attracted to Damian than I was in this moment.
My body tensed as the aches of losing Damian ten years ago and losing Vincent recently traveled through me. Beside me, Damian reached for my hand under the table. I wanted distance from him. Hell, the hypocrite in me wanted to hate him for leaving without a goodbye this morning—even though he hadn’t meant to fall asleep at my place in the first place.
But I could never hate him.
Not when I knew who he was.
As his thumb stroked my hand in a soothing motion, another wall of mine shattered. I flipped my hand upside down and interlocked my fingers with his. He squeezed my hand, and a decade of lost time pulsed between our palms.
What were we doing?
Why couldn’t we help ourselves?
I turned away from Damian, keeping my expression measured. Our hands remained under the table, where no one could see them. I suppose old habits die hard, and just like it was my instinct to stick up for him when I could, it was Damian’s instinct to hold my hand when he saw me in pain.
The rational part of me knew I needed to let go.
