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“Nah, we met at the restaurant I work, Randy. He invited me to one of his private parties, and the rest is history.”
“That’s it? Did he read you a poem or something cute?”
He fingered me under the table.
I chuckle, but Randy thinks it’s because of the poem bit. “No, I wish,” I lie. “He was as gentlemanly as a brute like him could be, though. Bought me drinks and food. Watched out for me when boys acted a little out of control.”
“That’s a good boy.” Mom reaches over the table and pats Castor’s hand. “Protect my little girl.”
“Always,” he says with such conviction, it renders me into a puddle of mush.
The dinner goes on without a hitch. Every time Marco lightens up, he pulls back a bit to make sure Castor knows he’s not comfortable with him dating me, but actions speak louder than words in my mind. He’s here, next to us.
It’s perfect. No one can ruin this moment.
Crrcth!
The window in the living room shatters, and the last thing I see is a grenade-looking tube spitting smoke into my mother’s house.
Chapter 30
Gia
“Everyone, get down!” Castor is on his feet just as fast as Marco. He shoves me and my mother to the far wall and takes the dining room table in one hand. Without a thought, he flips the entire beautiful dinner – splashing sauce, ziti, and all against the newly paneled walls – and barricades us behind it. “Go, Randy, behind the table.”
The sound of guns cocking scare me half to death.
Marco and Castor hide behind opposite inlets, signing to one another and peeking out into the growing smoke in the living room. I pray it’s not some kind of paralyzing gas or something.
There’s a gigantic hole in the center window where the smoke grenade was thrown through, and lots of screaming coming from outside.
“Motherfucker! I know it was you, Bullion!” an Italian accent echoes into the house.
Tht! Tht! Tht! Tht!
Bullets fly, and I scream into my mother’s arms. Randy uses his gigantic body to protect us, which makes me want to cry for different reasons. He’s shaking he’s so terrified, which in turn triples my angst. I’m not a religious person, but you best believe I’m praying.
“Two, at least,” Castor tells Marco. “You recognize the voice?”
“It’s fuckin’ Dito Bells from the Rigiano crew.”
“Fuck, this is revenge for Salty Dom. Marty haunts us from the grave,” Castor growls, ducking the next round of automatic bullet fire.
Tht! Tht! Tht! Tht!
Debris from the ceiling falls all over the dining room. It’s like they’re just spraying for the sake of scaring the shit out of us.
Crrk!
The door kicks in, and my mom holds me tighter.
I peek against the force of two bodies shielding me, and glimpse Castor duck into the fading smoke.
“No!” I cry.
Gunshots deafen me for a second – the flash of a spark showing that Castor is still upright. Marco peeks out of his inlet – on one knee – and shoots at the window when he sees someone about to hurl another grenade in.
Bang!
