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I might have been Delilah Turner when I walked into the Russo office months ago, but now I’m Delilah Antonia Carluccio-Russo, and I am a queen.
They can either bow or get the fuck out of my way.
“Hi, I believe we met,” I say with a smile. “Roz, right? And Sal? Sal Conte.” Roz purses her lips but doesn’t reply. Sal gives me a look, brows coming together like he can’t place my face.
Of course, walking into this family get-together, he knows who I am in the grand scheme of things, but he can’t place where we met, much less where I met his wife.
“I don’t . . . think I remember meeting you,” Sal says, and to be honest, for a moment, I can’t tell if he’s stupid or playing games.
“Oh, you don’t? I guess I didn’t leave an impression. But don’t worry. You definitely left one on me. I came into the office a few months ago. You, Sal, told me I didn’t have grit. You remember that?” I ask, scrunching my nose up. “And you—” I turn to Roz, who is giving me a face that would kill if it could, I’m sure. “You called me, oh, what was it?” I tap one pointed red nail against my lips, looking at the ceiling, making a show of it. “Oh, yeah. Some random bastard child.” The room goes quiet as I say the words just a bit louder, all eyes already on our little trio, and I smile a wide, catty smile.
God, it feels good to be me.
The new me.
I like her a lot.
Sal’s hand scrapes down his chin and he finally nods. I can almost see the lightbulb flicker to life inside of his head.
“I remember now. Came in looking to find a made man, right?”
So, he’s just really dumb.
Got it.
“No. I actually came looking for my grandfather.” I put a hand out. “Delilah Russo-Carluccio,” I say, swapping the order of my last names just this once for impact. “Nice to meet you,” I say, tipping my head to the side as I smile, personifying the version of a girl with no grit he thought I was.
No one takes my hand.
They both just stare at me.
“Russo?” Sal says, and I give him a wide-eyed nod, like the ditz he clearly thinks I am.
“Yeah. Turns out, you didn’t know the full story when you told me I didn’t have enough grit. You may have known my father, Arturo?” I smile sweetly and see from the corner of my eye Marco rolling his eyes to the ceiling.
Sal stands there, confused and shocked, his mouth open slightly.
He hasn’t met this version of me yet.
I wonder how he’ll feel about her.
“But don’t worry, we’ll have lots of time to get to know each other as I shadow Alfredo more, preparing to take over the family when he passes the torch.” My smile at this point has to be nearly comical.
It only grows when Roz speaks next, her own mind hung up on another part of the name I presented.
“Carluccio?” she asks in a near screech. “How the fuck are you a Carluccio and a Russo? Your mother wasn’t a fuckin’ Carluccio.”
“You knew who she was?” Sal asks, looking over at his wife, but she ignores him, continuing to gape at me with indignation.
“Oh, I married in. Just like you,” I say with a lilt in my voice, using the words she used all those months ago. I put a hand innocently to my chest. “Except, I chose better when I did. Got myself a true heir. Can you just imagine how much power our kids would have? A Carluccio Don and a Russo Donna. God. It’s almost poetic. So very Romeo and Juliet, but if they didn’t die in the end, ya know?”
“You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kidding me,” Sal murmurs under his breath, and then it happens.
They must know something about this man that I don’t because the room goes silent, anticipating. Marco’s body goes just a hair stiller in my periphery, and I watch as Sal’s face starts to go a bit red with frustration.
“Oh. Shit. Sorry. I forgot I’d heard that you were hoping to take over when Alfredo was gone. This must be a bummer for you,” I say and move my face into a fake pout.
“Oh, fuck,” Marco says.
