Bene (The Guzzi Legacy Book 5)

by Bethany-Kris

  “Yeah?”

  “Since you’re the best man and all—”

  “What, thinking of changing that last minute?”

  “Never.”

  That did make Bene smile.

  A genuine one, too.

  “What, then?”

  Beni shrugged, and pulled a small white box with a satin bow on the top from his pocket. “It’s a gift for August—I wanted her to have something before she walks down the aisle, and yeah.”

  “You want me to take it to her?”

  “I’m not supposed to go to the other side of the church today. I was warned.”

  Bene chuckled. “It’s bad luck.”

  “Superstitious bullshit, is what it is.”

  “And yet, you’re still on this side of the church.”

  Beni scowled, though it still looked playful. “Are you going to take it to her, or what?”

  “Of course, man.”

  He took the box and slapped his brother on the back as Beni turned to face the mirror once more. Leaving the room without another word, Bene did stop just long enough in the doorway to glance over his shoulder and take in his brother silently without Beni knowing he did so.

  Like this, someone might not be able to tell them apart. The same high fade hairstyle, matching features they took from their mother and father—cut from steel jawlines, lips that always seemed to be smirking from the shape alone, dark brown eyes with flecks of gold near the irises, and olive-toned skin tanned from the bright June sun they had been getting.

  Identical.

  And right now, they were two identical men in two entirely different places.

  Funny how that worked.

  They could be so alike.

  Yet, so different.

  Bene would figure out his path eventually. He wished his brother luck walking on his own. It was all he could do now.

  Besides, he had a job to do.

  A best man to be.

  The gift in his hand felt heavy.

  A gift to deliver.

  He’d deal with everything else later.

  Later always came.

  “I’m pleased to say those dancing lessons with me when you were younger paid off,” Bene’s mother said as they moved gracefully across the main floor. All around them, others waltzed and spun circles with their own partners, showing off for the guests at the reception. The wedding went off without a hitch, as long as the traditional Catholic ceremony could be, but the rest of the night? That would be a party. One long, fun party. “You always did like those lessons of ours.”

  He smiled. “Because I was spending time with you.”

  Cara laughed. “You know, I always wondered about that.”

  “About what?”

  Pulling back slightly so that she could stare into his eyes, Cara shrugged. “I worried we never gave enough one on one attention to each of you. That with so many siblings, someone would feel left out of the rest.”

  “Never,” he assured.

  Both his parents made a great effort to ensure all their sons were loved and had exactly what they needed. Time, attention, and affection included. For him and his mother, that meant dance lessons twice a week, never failed. He caught on quickly, enjoyed it too, and never complained when his mother said it was time to practice.

  “You certainly put on a happy face today,” Cara said, her palm coming up to pat him on the cheek with a gentle touch. Motherly. Always the mother, no matter the situation. She simply knew when one of her boys were feeling off, or whatever the case may be. “But how are you really feeling tonight, hmm?”

  Bene’s gaze drifted over his mother’s shoulder to peer across the large ballroom floor. The hotel had really transformed for the dinner and reception after Beni and August’s wedding. Gone were the tables, now pushed along the side of the walls for the guests who preferred to sit instead of getting up to dance. A popular DJ kept everyone moving and having fun. Servers walked around with free liquor for anyone who wanted to drink, and the large canopy of silk and chiffon lining the ceilings hung among twinkle lights.

  All in all, it was a good night.

  A Guzzi party.

  At the other end of the room, he found his twin dancing with his new wife. The song was a little fast, but still slow enough for a fast waltz. Except Beni and August weren’t dancing fast, and in fact, stayed close together.

  Sweet, really.

  As it should be.

  “He’s so happy,” Bene murmured.

  Cara sighed. “He is.”

  “And I’m not sure what I am, Ma.”

  Her hand on his cheek stroked again, softer that time. Her silent acknowledgement of a problem that he had been dealing with for a long time now, but alone. Mostly because he didn’t know how to tell them—his family; his twin—that things were just confusing for him right now. He was happy for Beni, but he was also unhappy for himself.

  But wasn’t that selfish?

  Petty?

  Bene didn’t want to be those things.

  He didn’t know how to stop it, either.

  “Except today isn’t about me,” Bene continued, wishing he could settle himself on that fact instead of just saying it, “it’s about them, so that’s what I want everyone to focus on, Ma, even you, okay?”

  Cara shook her head, letting him lead them further toward the middle of the floor when the song sped up in tempo. “That isn’t how a mother’s mind works. I worry about all of you individually, and together. It’s what I do.”

  “I’m fine.”

  He kept saying that.

  Bene couldn’t mean it.

  Not yet.

  Fake it until you make it.

  That was going to be his new mantra. Until he could say it, and fucking mean it, Bene would simply do what he had to do.

  “Also,” his mother said, stopping their dance suddenly with one of her sly smiles and then patting his shoulder when they let go of one another, “you have yet to ask your brother’s new wife for a dance, and all of your other brothers already did. I think it’s your turn.”

  “I wasn’t avoiding it.”

  “I never said that.”

  Bene glanced across the room again.

  Beni and August were still dancing, as close as ever, and seemingly oblivious to the rest of the room. He wasn’t sure it was very fair of him to go and break that up only because his mother thought it was his turn to dance with August. Not that it mattered. Cara got her way—it never failed. What she said went, as simple as that.

  “When Beni asks me why I interrupted his time with her tonight,” he said, “I am blaming you, Ma.”

  “And?”

  Ha.

  And they wondered where the Guzzi brothers got their attitudes from, really. They got it honestly—straight from the mouth of their mother.

  “Love you, Ma.”

  Cara beamed. “I love you. Now, go dance so I can get pictures.”

  Bene pulled his mother in for a kiss to her cheek, which she then decided to use to hug him once more. He needed that, even if it didn’t linger, and he wouldn’t say it out loud. Not that he needed to because his mother likely already knew.

  So was his life.

  His mother hadn’t been wrong—Beni didn’t seem to mind when Bene stepped in, tapped his brother on the shoulder, and asked if he could cut in to finish the dance with August.

  It did earn him a clap to the cheek as Beni asked, “How much longer do you think I have to entertain these people before I can get her out of here?”

  “Beni,” August admonished.

  His brother only shrugged, walking away while tossing over his shoulder, “Not a lie.”

  Bene had already taken his brother’s spot, only he kept his hand a lot higher on August’s lower back, the silk fabric of her wedding dress soft against his palm while he led her back into the waltz. “Welcome to the family.”

  August laughed. “Thank you.”

  “I saw the floor plans for the house.”

 
“Did you?”

  “Quite a home he’s building you.”

  “There’s even a studio office.”

  Bene nodded. “To write … create, whatever.”

  “You helped him design it, didn’t you?”

  He had.

  Beni asked, so.

  “Needed something to remind me of home when I come to visit,” he joked, “seeing as how Chicago always makes me want to dig out my eyeballs.”

  “It does not.”

  “A little.”

  “Just not home, huh?”

  “Not my home,” he admitted. “How are your parents liking Toronto?”

  “Love it.”

  He figured.

  Her parents came for the wedding, but three weeks early to help with any final preparations. It certainly gave the Guzzis lots of time to get to know the Riveras. It wasn’t lost on Bene how August’s small family seemed to fall right into step with theirs like it had always been that way.

  Meant to be, his father would say.

  “Bene?”

  “Hmm?”

  He smiled down at August.

  She grinned back.

  “I hope you don’t think I took him away from you.”

  It took him a second.

  And then two.

  She was genuine.

  He just hurt.

  In his chest, the ache spread like a wild fire. Fast, and intent on devastating the peaceful balance he had somehow managed to find today. It wasn’t August’s fault, and he understood why she said what she did, but that changed nothing about how he felt.

  Nothing changed that.

  Across the room, over August’s silk covered shoulder, he found his brother talking to their oldest sibling, Marcus. As though Beni could feel the sudden stab of pain that had taken over Bene in his chest, Beni rubbed at the same spot on his own body. Yet, he didn’t stop his conversation, and he continued like nothing was wrong.

  Subconscious.

  It had always been that way.

  Still was, even like this.

  “Bene?”

  He went back to August, never faltering in his happy expression. “I know you didn’t take him away from me.”

  That was the truth.

  He felt it in his bones.

  “Sometimes, I wonder,” she whispered.

  “Don’t.”

  He loved this woman. Certainly not in the same way his brother did, but he loved her nonetheless. He loved August simply because Beni fell in love with her, and she was the perfect fit for him, no question about it. His guilt was a killer, if only because he had said and done things early on in August and Beni’s relationship that he thought left his brother with bad feelings, and despite it seeming good between them now … Bene couldn’t say that it was. Not that his brother ever gave him any indication otherwise, and he made every effort he could to fix what he’d done wrong.

  Still, the guilt raged on.

  Killing him slowly.

  It was the icing on his fucked up cake.

  No, August hadn’t taken his brother away. Things would just be different now. Bene had to figure it out, and he had to do that by himself.

  Soon, the song changed and someone else interrupted Bene’s dance with August to take over. A friend of her father, apparently. He stepped back, and let the man take over, but only after he gave August a kiss to her cheek, and one more congratulations. She deserved it, after all, the same way his brother did.

  Plus, Bene was back in that space again.

  The dark one.

  His chest hurt.

  It wouldn’t stop.

  Bad things always seemed to happen whenever he got in this place—bad in his heart, and bleak in his mind. He acted out, not that it made any sense, or like he intended to do it at all. He didn’t want to do that here, not at his brother’s wedding reception.

  That wasn’t fair.

  Opposite to him in the room, he watched Beni rub his chest again.

  Bene rubbed his, too.

  Fuck that pain.

  It told the truth when he didn’t.

  Not tonight, though.

  No one would notice him gone.

  Surely.

  The party was almost over. Beni said it himself. With over three-hundred guests, no one would even notice he wasn’t there to send his brother off on his week-long honeymoon in Italy.

  Bene headed out of the hall before someone might notice he intended to leave, the background noise and pain in his chest fading with every step he took. It wasn’t long before he was in his car, driving down the highway, and heading for the heart of the city.

  His phone didn’t ring.

  No one called him back to the party.

  A distraction, his mind repeated.

  That’s what he needed right now.

  A fucking distraction.

  Bene planned on finding it.

  The dates on the headstone mocked Vanna the longer she stared at the engraved numbers. Something about the reminder that her sixteenth birthday had been spent standing right here in this very spot, dry-eyed because she cried so much at that point, her body just stopped producing tears.

  Instead, she’d dry-sobbed, an ugly cry that ached deep in her chest, left her throat raw, and kept her gasping for air when she just couldn’t take in enough. Her sobs had carried over the graveyard long after all the mourners left, although none of those people felt the same way she did about the man she was forced to bury that day.

  None of them understood her pain.

  Or they did but didn’t care.

  That’s how she remembered her father’s funeral.

  Painfully.

  That was five years ago.

  To the fucking day.

  She stopped visiting her father’s grave as much as she used to that first couple of years after his murder. Instead of twice a week, it was only on Sundays after church. And then she slowed to a couple of times a month, and now it was just once.

  Did that mean the grief was settling?

  That it hurt less?

  That she didn’t feel alone?

  No.

  It simply meant that standing here didn’t give her the same tangible connection to her father that she used to have when she came to the grave. Sometimes, she felt it more when she was walking down a street and passed one of Adam’s favorite places—things had changed in five years, sure, but some things remained the same. Other times, she felt him better when she stood at this spot, and looked down at his grave.

  It did hurt more here, though.

  She had to remember the funeral.

  And what came before.

  “Hey.”

  Vanna’s head popped up at the familiar voice, finding Mario standing just outside her classroom. The Detti principe, people called him. Or the clan—the grandson of the Camorra boss, he was fucking royalty in their circles. Maybe it was his bloodline and the last name, but Mario got whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted it. All he had to do was snap his fingers, and someone would jump to fill his demands.

  He was just another boy to her, though.

  A boy who seemed to like her, sure, but Vanna wasn’t interested.

  She liked Mario well enough, but just not like that. And usually, when he was waiting for her at their private school, it was because something bad happened. Especially after a class. It meant someone would be waiting outside to take them home. So was the Camorra way. When shit went bad, they protected the clan first.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  Mario tried to smile.

  It didn’t come.

  “Mario?”

  He glanced to the side, and Vanna followed his stare. Down the hallway, she found a familiar man—no, that was wrong. Two men stood there, waiting. One stood a little ahead of the other, his arms crossed at his front, and his three-piece, black suit tailored to perfectly fit his form. He was an imposing sight, Mario’s father.

  Senior, they called him.

  The right-hand man to the cu
rrent Camorra boss, Senior’s father. Senior would likely follow his father’s footsteps, and someday head the clan as the boss. Like Mario, too. Or that’s what people liked to say. Vanna didn’t know if she believed it, or if she even cared. After all, her father promised it would be him as the boss soon enough.

  Very soon, if his plans went off as he said they would.

  Behind Mario’s father, the other man stood as stoic and silent as he did. Waiting, she thought. It seemed like they were waiting for them. But why?

  “I asked him to let me tell you,” Mario said, his tone low.

  “Tell me what?”

  “Vanna—”

  Her head snapped back and forth, glancing between the people down the hallway of her private school, and Mario. It was only then that she realized how empty the place was. The last class of the day, so it made sense that most of the kids had run the hell out of there because freedom was now at their fingertips.

  Something in her heart said that freedom was nowhere for her. It was too heavy—too harsh, even. A weight had come to sit in her stomach, just like the ones sitting on her shoulders now, too. It almost made her feel sick, really.

  One always knew when bad news was coming.

  They only had to pay attention.

  “What’s happened?” Vanna asked, her voice rising and coming out sharper. Desperate. “Where’s my dad? He’s supposed to be the one who picks me up from school? Is he outside?”

  “Vanna—”

  “Where’s my father?”

  Mario wasn’t even trying to smile now. Vanna wished her heart didn’t hurt as much as it did in those moments.

  “I’m sorry,” Mario said, “but your dad was killed—”

  “Hey.”

  Vanna blinked out of the memory at the voice echoing behind her. Just like that day as she was coming out of her final class of the day, how he greeted her … it was exactly the same, and given how she felt in those moments, not very much had fucking changed.

  If only Mario understood how much she hated him for that. Because he asked to be the one to deliver the news—he caused her more pain than he knew, and she would never be able to forgive him for it, either. He hadn’t killed her father—his grandfather did that when he learned Adam was plotting against him to take over—but it didn’t matter to Vanna.

  That memory seared into her brain.

  In her very soul.