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“Yep, definitely the place.” I unbuckle my seatbelt and stretch out my legs. It took around an hour to wind our way into the Bucks County suburbs.
“I find it really difficult to believe that your father’s family meets in an old bowling alley.”
“Try harder then.”
He laughs softly and puts a hand on my thigh. It’s an unconscious gesture. Gian’s always touching me like he can’t help himself.
“Dante’s parked nearby with Carlo. What’s your plan?”
“Stay close. I’m going inside.”
“Are you sure that’s safe?”
“My dad’s pissed at me, but he doesn’t want me dead.” Probably. I hope, anyway. “Wait for me to text before you come inside.”
“I can do that, but are you sure you want to go in alone?” His concern is touching, but I shake my head.
“I need to do this. It’s important.”
“Important to me and my family, but what about what you need?”
“You’ve done plenty for that as it is.” I lean over and kiss his cheek. He catches my hair and pulls me in, holding me as his tongue invades my mouth. When we break apart, I’m breathless and dizzy, but no time to take this to its logical conclusion.
“Break a leg,” he says.
“Hopefully, nobody’s getting any broken bones tonight, but thanks.” I step out of the truck. His old SUV disappeared, and though he didn’t tell me why, I’m guessing it’s because of what happened with that Irish guy.
The bowling alley looks abandoned. There are other cars in the parking lot, but they’re spread out as if they were just left overnight. When I reach the doors though, I find them unlocked, and the lights are on inside. I take a deep breath, suddenly very nervous, as I walk inside.
Everything’s bathed in black lights. Colors glow neon-bright and absurdly loud pop music blares from all the speakers. It’s the alley’s Cosmic Bowling setup, something they do for the early day crowd to make things a little more fun. Only one lane is active, and a lone bowler keeps on taking turns, throwing hard and loud, smashing pins.
My hands shake as I walk toward a group of men huddled near that active lane. Nobody notices me at first. There are twelve of them, men I’ve known for most of my life. Uncle Gasparo, Uncle Sanzio, Uncle Alvino, Uncle Como, and a few others. Only Gasparo and Sanzio are related to me by blood; the rest are my fake uncles, members of my father’s inner circle, his best friends and most trusted Capos. Some of the guys I don’t know well, and I assume those are the respected and trusted soldiers that were invited to this little gathering.
A head pops up. Uncle Sanzio sees me. He’s got shaggy eyebrows and thick, dark hair. He says something, and twelve sets of eyes turn in my direction. The lone guy bowling keeps on rolling, the pins smashing loudly.
My father turns to face me. He says something to the gathered men before extracting himself from the group and walks over. I hurry to meet him, getting as close to the others as I can. Their curiosity is evident, but none of them looks angry. It’s a major relief.
“Allegra.” Well, none of them, except for Daddy. He’spissed. “What in god’s name are you doing here?”
“I wanted to talk to you.” I shift slightly and raise my voice. I’m not sure if the others can hear me, but I want them to. The loud music, the weird lighting, and the guy bowling are all designed to make this meeting as difficult to record as possible. The lights mess with cameras; the noise messes with recorders. My father learned a long time ago that paranoia pays in a line of work like the mafia. Bowling alleys are the perfect cover.
“You aren’t welcome here.” He glares down at me. “How did you even know about this meeting?”
Sophia. But I don’t say that. “I know I’m not supposed to be here right now, but I have something you want. I thought maybe we could talk about it.”
I notice more curious stares. Uncle Sanzio’s leaning forward and whispering something to the man at his elbow.
“Whatever you have to say can wait.” Dad grabs my arm. “You need to leave right now.”
“Rocco,” Uncle Sanzio calls out before Dad can drag me to the door. “Hold on a second.” He walks over with Uncle Gasparo on his tail. The two men are younger than my father, though they all share that classic Italian look. Dark skin, thick black hair, lots of jewelry. They dress like gangsters with country club memberships. Which is exactly what they are.
“Hello, Uncle Sanzio, Uncle Gasparo.” I make my tone as polite as I can, though I’m afraid. I don’t think my family will kill me, but they might ruin my plan.
“My daughter made a mistake,” Dad says, his tone hard. “She doesn’t belong here.”
“She’s also married to Gian Rossi,” Uncle Sanzio points out. “I assume that has something to do with this?” His eyebrows raise at me.
I nod once. “Yes, it does.”
