“No. He thinks it’s the 90s all over again, and he’s Robert De Niro.” Cesare gave a pained chuckle before reluctantly pulling away. “We’re going to have an early dinner and try to talk him out of the story he’s currently stuck in. The twins, Raffi and Enzo, are here and Auntie Maribella is coming over later. You'll like her.”
“Okay.” Sabrina nodded. “What do you need from me? If a new face would upset your dad, I can give you guys some space. But if he needs calming down, maybe I can help?” She trailed off, her fingers massaging his hair in an instinctive, almost subconscious movement.
Cesare looked at her as if she were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, and kissed her on the mouth. “I tell you a crazy man is in the house, and you say you want to talk to him.” He muttered against her mouth.
“I want you.” She muttered against his lips. “Which means I’m here for the good moments just as much as the Robert De Niro ones.” She looked at him somberly. “But please don’t try to send me to the spa just to get me out of your hair again, which I'm sure was not your intention, and was a simple oversight.” She finished with an imperial tone.
Cesare looked her over once more before giving her a much slower and deeper kiss.
Sabrina clutched at his shoulders, only to give a dissatisfied huff when he pulled away.
“Come on then,” He muttered, reaching out his hand to help her up. “Time to meet the circus.”
???
Cesare Sr. really looked like Robert De Niro, Sabrina thought, as he unfolded a strategy for a full-scale assault on the Damasco family, from the head of the Lombardi dinner table. A Beretta M9 was placed on the table within reaching distance, but Sabrina supposed this was much better than when it had been in his hands.
An hour of introductions and hushed side conversations had turned into a war council supplemented by pistachios and scotch. Cesare Sr., ever the gentleman, had insisted a bottle of Chianti wine be brought out forhis son’s woman.
He’d stop every few minutes with a furtive look at Sabrina and lean into Cesare. “This really isn’t the place for women, Cesare. Send her to the spa and keep her out of this.”
Enzo, endlessly nonchalant, would chime in each time with increasingly untrue reasons for her presence at the war meeting, only to be forgotten a few minutes later when Cesare Sr. brought up her presence once more.
“She’s got morning sickness, Pops, so Cesare wants to keep her close. You know how it is.” Enzo shrugged.
From across the table, Cesare the younger made the gesture of slicing one’s throat. Enzo responded by flipping him off with a grin.
Sabrina did her best to suppress a snort of amusement, but was unsuccessful.
“My boy, a father!” Cesare Sr. stood up, responding this time with far more clarity than he had to any of Enzo’s other peanut gallery shenanigans.
“Oh shit.” Raffi muttered.
“You’re pregnant?!” Cesare Sr. demanded, grinning widely as he left his chair to wrap Sabrina in a hug.
Raffi discreetly removed the Baretta from the table, and passed the handgun under the table to Enzo.
Sabrina couldn’t help being touched by the joy radiating off the man; particularly in contrast to the steady stream of vitriol and death that had been coming from the former mafia boss for the past hour.
Cesare Sr. took Sabrina’s face in his and kissed both of her cheeks. “Is it a boy or a girl?” He asked, blinking back what looked suspiciously close to tears.
Sabrina’s Cesare shifted uncomfortably. “We don’t know yet, Pops.”
“Oh that’s right. That’s right.” Cesare Sr. nodded, sniffing. “It’s too early, isn’t it?”
Cesare nodded. “Yeah, Papi. We just found out ourselves.” He answered, throwing a glare at Enzo.
Cesare Sr. took Sabrina’s hands in his and kissed them as if he were venerating something holy. “You’re going to make me a nonno, my beautiful girl, you!” He looked back up, beaming.
Sabrina was still searching for an appropriate response when Cesare Sr.’s brows suddenly furrowed and he looked back at her hands.
“No, no, no!” He shook his head. Keeping Sabrina’s hands gently in his, he turned a fearsome gaze on his oldest son. “Sheisn’t married? You dothisto a good Catholic girl, and she isn’t married?!” He demanded.
“Isshe Catholic?” Enzo asked Raffi.
“What are you asking me for?” Raffi shrugged.
“No, she’s not Catholic.” Cesare answered in a somewhat bewildered tone. He turned his gaze back to Sabrina, who shrugged back sheepishly.
