As the first pale lights of dawn filtered through Tony’s window, he turned his head softly on his pillow and watched. His nights were often fitful, on those rare occasions he slept long enough to even have a qualifying night, and this had been no different. Yet, he wasn’t filled with the need to get up, not all at once. Passing a hand over his eyes, Tony thought back to the sister he’d once had: brown eyes dancing, voice full of exuberance.
That girl was gone now, placed by one whose masquerade might have fooled everyone else - all those who hadn’t looked into her eyes as she lay dying, growing colder and colder in his arms. It had been years, now, and even Tony thought of it often - he was sure it couldn’t far from her thoughts. Even Alek had had occasion to remind him, in the beginning, You must not falter, he’d insisted. You already know what will happen, if you do. Tony hadn’t nodded but Alek had: he could see it in his eyes. When I do, they will find me and they will destroy me and then what will stand between them…and my family? he’d thought. Alek, as always had been right.
Sometimes, he wondered if he’d done something differently…He ought to have been more attentive, been a better brother, something, and perhaps none of this would ever have happened. Perhaps, then, Elena might have been spared. Tony’s eyes listlessly found the ceiling as he forced himself not to think if worse had happened or if it were to catch up with the rest of his siblings as well or, or, or…
Grasping his sheets, Tony roughly pulled them back, sliding his legs around. His feet tingled where they touched the cool floor. Quick paces led him to the bathroom. Splashing cold water on his face, he began his daily ministrations. Anything was better than dwelling on what might be, should he ever fall short.
He was in the midst of pulling on his blouse when Alek, ever ahead, entered. “Good morning, Alek,” Tony said, casting a glance his way, as he buttoned the edges of his sleeves. A smirk softened his features - or half of them, anyway, given that an injury had killed off the nerves on one side of his mouth. “Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me,” he remarked, in reference to Alek being ahead of Mrs. Moretti’s schedule. He nodded. “I’m sure you’re right,” he added, adjusting his collar. As usual. “Either way, you know breakfast is always welcome. I imagine we’re well ahead of them, in any case.” Especially Sonny and Uncle Franco, he thought, with some measure of bemusement. Somehow, the dynamic between those particular two and Alek had always been of great amusement to Tony.
The smirk died away when Alek mentioned Tomasso. His eyes sharpened, some sense he’d stored away for pleasantries quickening in him. Other side of a continent or no, Vegas remained Tony’s responsibility and he hadn’t forgotten it. Dropping his hands from his collar, he turned to face Alek. “Good,” he commented, “Thank you.” Followed by a pause. “But, if you will, please ask Tomasso to put extra men on the floor tonight. We wouldn’t want any unfortunate…situations to occur in the aftermath. And be sure to hint his personal presence wouldn’t go amiss. I think we can pump up those numbers a bit.”
Walking over the table, Tony assumed his seat, offering another thanks for the food. “Tell me,” he began following a moment of quiet, as he had eaten a few bites, distractedly. “How does my father seem to you?” Tony hadn’t expected to see him in good condition, certainly, but he’d hoped for more. Alfonso seemed frailer than Tony had ever seen him and he couldn’t help but feel that empty dread in the pit of his stomach as he remembered a fear that had dogged his steps all along. We’re all mortal.
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