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There are six men sitting around a table, sprawled on couches, standing and talking. It smells of smoke from cigars that litter the ashtrays. Tino is bent over the pool table, lining up a shot. He winks at me when he sees me walking in, and I wave with a smile.
As I walk farther into the room, each man gives me their own smile and a wave or a small hello or a tip of the chin in greeting.
Each and every one of them.
Each one stops what they’re doing to say hi and as I take in their faces, I realize it’s not out of duty or politeness.
The smiles are genuine. They’re truly happy to see me here.
Except for one, of course.
“What the fuck are you doing here, Delilah?” Paulie asks with a mean glare. He’s been drinking from the look of him, and I have to wonder how much. The nearly empty bottle of whiskey on the counter could be old, or it could have been shared with the others, or . . .
But the really interesting part is how the men react to his words.
Confusion.
Furrowed brows.
The men take notice of the interaction and begin to stand at attention to watch how it unravels.
Tino take his shot and then stands, leaning on his pool stick, taking in what’s going on.
Dario crosses his arms on his chest.
And maybe the most surprising, Jason moves just a hair in my direction, a nearly brotherly protective move.
It’s then that I know.
I’ve done it.
I’ve pulled them all to my side.
They all feel the need to protect me, all of them looking at Paulie with confusion and just a hint of intolerance.
A small thrill runs through me.
Well, I guess it’s time to see how deep that loyalty runs.
Time to push the envelope.
“I was wondering if you could look at some of the things for the wedding,” I say, lifting a folder. I make my voice sound apologetic and exhausted, like this whole process is taking its toll on me. “Your mom gave me an entire—
“No.” I mask my face with a look of confusion, like I can’t understand why my fiancé wouldn’t do me this favor for our special day.
And really, he truly is the dick to end all dicks, not even letting me finish my sentence before telling me no.
“I just need—"
“No, Lilah. Get the fuck out of here,” he says then moves forward, cutting the distance between us in half.
“Did I . . . Did I interrupt something?” I ask, looking around at the men. “I’m sorry, was this a meeting or something?” I cringe as if I feel bad about just jumping in.
“No, sweetheart, you didn’t,” Jason says.
Well, that’s definitely new, I think to myself, fighting the smile at knowing Jason now treats me as a friend—potentially one to protect.
When Marco told me they were childhood friends, that Jason is the reason Marco was able to easily join this family, I knew he and I could probably be friends if he could get his head out of Paulie’s ass. I trust Marco’s opinion, and if he said Jason was good people, I just needed to work extra hard to make him my people.
