JULIA |BOOK II| BWWM

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 19

•MANHATTAN, NEW YORK•

Third Person POV

"....Spiacente, Papa."  Nicolai dejectedly spoke as he sat curling and flexing his toes.

The two sat in the dimly lit modernized kitchen on opposite sides of the glossy quartz dinner table as Adrian took his last few bites of cacio e pepe.

"Sorry for what?" He asked while briefly glancing to his son who distractedly picked at his white cheese pizza.

Nicolai shrugged.

Adrian's impatient yet curious eyebrows raised on his forehead as he waited for Nicolai's verbal answer.

"I—I messed up at the meeting."

A sharp breath passed in and out of Adrian's lungs as he wiped the corners of his mouth with his black dinner cloth and leaned back in the chair.

"Why do you feel that way, Nicolai?"

"You always tell me 'ottimo lavoro', but this time you didn't say it. You didn't say anything."

"So because you didn't get a pat on the head you think you did a bad job?"

Nicolai began nodding but paused and parted his lips, "Yes."

Adrian cleared his throat and interlaced his fingers while resting his elbows on the table.

"Let me ask you something; and think about your answer before you speak. How do you feel when I tell you 'ottimo lavoro'?

Nicolai's feet fidgeted as his ankles bobbed into one another.

"Like I made you proud."

"So you feel happy—confident?"

"Mh—I mean—yes."

"And what about when I don't say anything?"

It's like you're mad at me. Like I did something wrong."

"Did you? Deep down, do you think you did your best despite the outcome of the meeting?"

Again, Nicolai paused as the evening light cast a deep shadow over his soft thoughtful expression before muttering an doubtful reply.

"I don't know."

A stifled snicker grumbled from Adrian's throat as he slid his chair back and waved Nicolai to him.

"Vieni qui, Nicolai."

With the same lack of coordination as his mother, Nicolai slid to the floor—stumbling slightly—and trotted to the opposite side of the table.

"Listen to me. Being Don is not easy. You make decisions and say things every day that earns you love from some and hate from others. There ain't always a gold star waiting for you at the end of the day. Capisco?"

With pursed lips, Nicolai blinked heavily and leveed the prickling tears welling behind his tired eyes.

With a firm grip pressing securely against the young boy's shoulders, Adrian positioned Nick directly in front of him.

"Now, I didn't tell you good job because I don't think you did a good job. You showed no confidence and you let men that work for us walk over you."

"But they started yelling, Papa! They didn't want to listen to me."

"That's no excuse.,—Adrian's grip tightened—,"You think those men will respect you if you shrink back at every harsh word?"

"I—I just got scared." Nick admitted as his vision slowly blurred.

"And that's the problem, Nicolai. You fear these men and care too much about what their opinion of you. Thinking that way is dangerous and will get you killed."