4 Rainy Days and Monday by Robert Michael Page A

desire. She longed to be accepted. After being rejected by his brother, Beatrice was desperate for the power of the ViVeri elite. It was her intent to make her mother proud, to honor her parent’s legacy.
    The Komemnos children’s father had instilled in them a great fear of failure. For Andronicus, it lent him a steel-hard determination and focus. For Antiochus, he covered over his lack of confidence and dread with a false bravado. Many missed this, but she had seen the effects close up and in private moments when Antiochus was most vulnerable.
    It helped that his chiseled chin, muscular frame, and his family’s legacy carried a significant amount of weight in their circle of influence. Among the Consortium, Antiochus was considered almost god-like.
    Indeed, he appeared the vision of a Greek or Roman deity.
    She found it ironic that one brother possessed the inner strength—the other, the beauty and grace—of a leader. Andronicus would always be held back by his brazen manner, his hard edges, and his immense ego.
    Antiochus, with Beatrice at his side, could rule with impunity.
    After a moment, she decided to press the issue.
    “We should just remove him altogether,” she suggested. She swallowed. She knew she was walking on thin ice.
    She felt his muscles tighten beneath her. His jaw clenched but he did not open his eyes. His nose flared as he pursed his lips.
    She knew he would not talk to her for some time now. This was his pout.
    It was remarkable to her how quickly men would revert to their juvenile ways. Even men as powerful as Antiochus and Andronicus, whose bloodlines were pure and royal, would throw a tantrum, become petty and vindictive, and play the fool. She was comforted that humanity’s best could still be so weak. It was why God had made woman. They completed what God had made incomplete. In that, there was a gift, an honor, a role to play. Strength in supposed weakness.
    “I know you do not want to discuss this, but we must. You do not have a choice in this,” she cooed.
    His eyes sprung open and he glared at her, hurt and angry.
    The sudden change from passionate lover to violent anger had surprised and made her uncomfortable in the beginning. Now she was used to it. It was no mystery to her that to men, violence and sex were inextricably intertwined. Fresh from battle, men would be insatiable in bed, and after having intercourse, a man would be equally prepared to sleep or to fight.
    “You cannot tell me I have no choice!” he accused. Spittle flew from his lips. Lips that had kissed hers moments ago. Lips that had pronounced such poetic statements of fondness and fealty. Now, they were cursing her.
    She remained calm. Effected a look of profound hurt and meekness.
    “I am only concerned that he may succeed in this and then what will we do? The council will accept him in.”
    “They would not dare. We have an agreement!” he demanded. He sat up and pulled himself away from her in a huff. He licked his lips nervously, his eyes darting.
    She slipped her feet to the floor and looked back at him.
    “It is not Andronicus we should be concerned about. It is this new threat in America.”
    He shook his head in disbelief.
    “They are not upstarts, Beatrice. They have been there since before Kennedy. Even he could not control them. Even the Communists could not crack them.”
    He was right, of course. These were her very words to him a week ago as they lay in each other’s arms. She often found him parroting her policies, philosophies, and knowledge and parading it as his own. She allowed him this because she knew the truth.
    “So, are we just going to ignore that the Brotherhood is directly attacking us? That they have infiltrated our entire network of commons?”
    He crossed his arms and stared at the draperies gently blowing in the floor-to-ceiling balcony window.
    “The Brotherhood can have America for all I care.”
    “They want more than that and you know it. Some of our colleagues believe