Page 61 of Damiano De Luca (The Five Syndicates)
He kept choosing me, and it was time I started choosing him.
The room cleared until only Damian and I remained. He closed the door when everyone left.
“What’s that look you’re giving me?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know whether to be in awe of you or utterly appalled. Your syndicate needs you to represent them. You can’t keep putting them second.”
“I can’t help it.”
“I know.”
And I did. He put me first. Always had.
“Do you, Ren?” He took a step closer to where I stood, my bottom resting partially on the table. “Because I keep making these gestures, and you keep pushing me away, but we both know you want me. Don’t even deny it.” I didn’t dare. “What do I have to do to get through to you?”
I opened my mouth to speak, but the fear seized me. “I’m supposed to be strong, but whenever I think of being with you again, I freeze, and this irrational fear takes over. It makes no sense. You didn’t break my heart. I broke my own heart by leaving you. I don’t know why I’m like this. What the hell is wrong with me? Why can’t I ever make this work?”
He had to understand me, had to understand the feelings I couldn’t articulate. We were both made of the same components. Broken hearts. Broken childhoods. Broken parents who broke us, too. If anyone in this world could understand me, it would be him.
“You’re scared. I get that. But if you can take a leap for anyone, let it be me.”
Of course, he was right. I remembered how it felt a month ago to be in the ballroom, listening to people tell stories of Vincent, knowing how much I’d missed out on. I didn’t want to miss out on Damian anymore.
I didn’t answer for a bit. “Does it have to be a leap?”
He held back a smile, but I could see it in his eyes. “It can be a hop.”
“I’m good at hopping.”
Skeptics are never deceived.
Proverb
Dad called halfway through dinner. I sat at the table with the rest of the syndicate leaders. Ren was on the other side of Asher’s restaurant, because she’d already showed favoritism in the meeting this morning and didn’t want to overplay her hand at dinner.
When Dad called, I answered the phone and dipped into the hallway that led to the bathroom.
Dad didn’t even wait for me to greet him before he spoke. “You’re representing the De Luca name, and you’re fucking up. I told you that you’re no good for this. You’re a fucking embarrassment.”
“What do you want, old man?” I didn’t have time for this.
“Look, money’s tight—”
I barked out a laugh. “I’m hanging up now.”
“Wait! Hear me out.”
I did, because what he’d been reduced to amused me. He’d given me scars on my back from his belt, and I’d taken away the empire that gave him the power to do that to me. It felt nice to rub it in his face a bit.
He heaved out words as quickly as he could, clearly afraid I’d hang up on him. “You wired me half of what I usually get this month.”
“Your allowance has been reduced and redistributed to people who deserve it more. The Humane Society. ASPCA. The Human Rights Campaign, ACLU, Southern Poverty Law Center, and about a dozen women’s health clinics.”
To be clear, just about everyone on this planet deserved money more than my dad did, but I liked to give to causes he hated in particular. Probably the one joy I never denied myself.
“Bull fucking shit! That’s my money! You’ve already got me in a retirement home with people whose greatest life accomplishments are their fucking grandchildren. I’m Angelo De Luca!”
He was such a damned headache. That was what he was. Every once in a while, he’d run his money dry, and I’d get a belligerent phone call, all of which ended the same—me hanging up on him.
