"Take me to my children," I said after we'd driven silently for several minutes.
"We're going to one of the places in Jersey."
"Why there?"
"The family wants to know how you plan to keep up your end of the bargain with Dad."
I'd known this was coming. "Who wants what?"
"Hunh?" My brother queried, more focused on the turn in the road than the conversation.
"I'm guessing this is about the houses, the bank accounts and the territories. So, I ask again, who wants what."
He considered me for a moment. "You really don't care about this, do you?"
"Not particularly. The quicker I can get to the day-to-day, the better it will be. You know I've always craved a normal life."
"We don't get the luxury of normal, Arti."
I winced, hating his shortening of my name as always. "It's Artemisia. Like the Queen, brother. Remember that."
"More like a weedy plant." I heard him mutter.
We pulled up to the luxurious villa on a quiet street. Cars of various makes and models and Thomas' truck spoke of those who awaited my arrival.
I knew some members present were interested in what I had to say, and others were more interested in swaying the outcome.
The door swung open as my foot hit the front stairs. Pulled open by one of the staff.
"I need to freshen up."
I didn't wait for anyone to agree or disagree. Father wouldn't have. My heels echoed on the hallway's marble like gunshots in a mausoleum.
Father had set aside the room for when I would visit him on the weekends as he'd gotten older. My face was the only one who frequented this home, and it played a significant role in his reasoning for wanting to pass the organization of our lives down to me.
That and the fact I reminded him of himself the most. He'd commented on it too often not to be aware of it.
Refreshing my lipstick, I ran a brush through my hair. I could not ignore the plumpness of my lips from where Nis had thoroughly kissed them. Or that I looked rested for once. It was the first time I'd slept soundly for weeks.
At least until the wee hours when I'd woken to the realization my father was truly gone, and I spent the last few minutes of his time on earth fighting him instead of making amends. It was like a knife to my heart but a relief I couldn't describe to others.
How can you grieve someone who has caused so much grief?
Knowing they had assembled in the far dining room, I made my way there. I would ask for their report first to see what they found.
Andrew, who had picked me up. James, John, Bartholemew, and Thomas. My father, before his downfall, was deeply religious, and he continued his descent after my mother passed on. It also wasn't uncommon for us to be present at mass.
Mother had named me. Otherwise, I would've been some perpetual lady of sorrow. I wasn't sure what to think of this connection. I was never religious.
Like his namesake, Thomas had begun to show signs of tiring of this life. I trod carefully in conversations with him. Not knowing where his doubts would lead him.
James was far too quiet for my liking; John was equally in concert with James. The two were hungry for power but were too immature to take it. When mother was alive, she was often used to exert control over father for their sake.
Bartholemew was meticulous and good with money.
As we gathered around the polished mahogany table in the dimly lit boardroom, I couldn't help but reflect on the peculiar coincidence that our names echoed the apostles of biblical lore. James, John, Bartholemew, Thomas—names chosen by a father whose religious fervor crumbled alongside his empire.
"I can't shake the irony, you know," I remarked, my eyes scanning the faces of my brothers. "Our names, like some divine twist of fate. Father was deeply religious, even after everything fell apart."
Thomas, seated across from me, nodded solemnly. "Yeah, it's like we're living out some biblical drama. And not the uplifting kind."
A sardonic smile played on my lips. "More like a descent into hell after Mother passed. You remember those masses, the liturgies in languages long dead. We were practically raised in the pews."
"Mother had no such thing for names," I continued, glancing at Bartholemew, who meticulously organized his notes.
"She named me, saved me from being some perpetual lady of sorrow. Not sure how I feel about that connection to the apostles, though. I was never much of a religious soul."
Thomas, mirroring his biblical counterpart, seemed weary of the life we led. "Sometimes, I feel like I'm ready for a change."
I leaned back in my chair, eyeing James and John on either side. "James, John, you two are always hungry for power, but sometimes I wonder if you're ready for it. Remember how Mother used to wield it over Father? For your sake."
James, the quieter of the two, raised an eyebrow. "Power's a tricky thing. Easy to want, harder to handle."
John chimed in, "True. But we'll figure it out. We always do."
Bartholemew, meticulous and shrewd, interrupted our banter. "Speaking of power, let's get back to business. The financial reports need attention, and I'd hate to see our empire crumble like Father's."
I couldn't help but chuckle. "Bartholemew, you're more Matthew with the way you handle money. Collecting taxes, keeping things in order."
The room fell into a brief silence before I added, "Once we're done discussing the money, I'd like to address the grumblings about Father's illegitimate children. Particularly the one he favored in his golden years."
The weight of our family legacy hung in the air as we delved back into the business at hand, a reminder of the tangled web we wove and the shadows of our father's sins that still lingered.