Her posture softens. She sweeps her thumb over my knuckles.
“I’m fine, Dante. The baby and I are fine. I promise.”
I squeeze her hand as we return to the table. I don’t miss the daggers Jessica throws my way right before she whispers something to Marco that makes him laugh. When the hell did this little tryst start? I’m going to have to talk to my brother…before he makes a hell of a mistake.
But I have something much more important to attend to first.
I straighten up and smooth my tie with one hand. “Can I have your attention? Everyone.”
The head waiter has been anticipating my signal—Imayhave planned this whole thing earlier—and he cues his staff to start bringing around champagne. My guests make sounds of curious delight, except for my wife, who looks up at me with big-eyed worry. She’s served a glass of sparkling cider and her lips press into a hard line. I put a reassuring hand on her shoulder.
“As you all know, the Abbott and Bellanti wineries are now joined, and the wines we’ll produce next year will be something truly spectacular. But there’s another surprise coming even sooner than that, something even more special than the perfect wine.”
Raising my glass, I turn to my wife. “I’d like to raise a toast to my wife Francesca and our baby, due late next year.”
A broad, genuine smile crosses my face. I can feel it. I usually don’t smile like this, but I can’t help it right now. Frankie, on the other hand…isn’t as pleased. Her expression is murderous, and next to her, so is Charlie’s. I don’t know why, but I don’t have time to ponder it as the table erupts into happy cheers and well wishes, several of the women jumping out of their seats to come around and congratulate Frankie.
The food is served, so I sit back down with a glance at my wife, but she won’t even look at me. Easy chatter circles the table as everyone enjoys the meal, but Frankie just pokes at her food. Something is obviously wrong. And whatever it is, it’s clear that I caused it this time. But I don’t get a chance to speak to her alone, since I’m so busy putting on a show for our guests.
When the meal ends, the maître d’ comes out to herd the men to the humidor smoking room for cigars and after-dinner drinks. His jovial voice booms a congratulations as he grips my shoulder and pulls me ahead of the crowd. I don’t get another look at my wife as I’m shuffled away, but I hear a staff member inviting the ladies to enjoy the indoor garden and piano bar.
A fat cigar and tumbler of brandy are shoved into my hands the moment I step into the smoking room. I’m surrounded by sweet, heady smoke and the sounds of ice clinking against crystal, more well wishes and chuffs from the men.
“That was some announcement. Congratulations!” One of the men from the Chicago family clasps me on the shoulder. “I understand now why things are so urgent.”
I give him a nod and walk away, hoping I can slip out the door and go find Frankie for a few minutes alone, but I don’t get far. Clayton, Armani, and Marco are sitting with Dom Frisco—he’s our connection from the Chicago family—and Dom makes eye contact with me as he beckons me to join them.
That’s my cue to enter the fold and start negotiations. I thought I was prepared for this—it’s not the first time I’ve bartered with devils—but my mind strays to my wife and unborn child. I’d sworn to put dirty work like this behind me. My brothers and I are in agreement that we want out, yet here we are, helplessly reeled right back in.
Taking a deep draw of the brandy so it burns my throat, I saunter to the group and stand with my legs apart, taking up the exact space I dread filling.
Dom salutes me with a glass of wine. It’s Bellanti wine, from the selection we had sent over for this dinner.
“No wonder you’ve seen such success, Dante. Money. Influence. A beautiful wife and a thriving business,” Dom says, buttering me up. As if I can’t see right through him. “The wine is exquisite. Cheers to your continued good fortune.”
Another round of cheers goes through the men. Dom stares at me with a slight grin, reminding me that my “good fortune” hangs in the balance.
“Grazie,” I tell him. “I’m glad you’re enjoying the wine.”
Dom gives the red a swish in his glass, watching it swirl. “I imagine it takes quite a bit of blood, sweat, and tears to create something so good.”
“It does.” There’s an edge to my voice now. I know he wants something.
“You could barter with this nectar of the Gods and get whatever you wanted, yes?”
Snuffing out the cigar in a crystal ashtray on the side table, I toss back the rest of the brandy and set the glass down hard. Playtime is over. “Get to the point, Frisco.”
He grins wide and mirrors me as he drains the wine and clunks down the glass. Any pleasantry is gone from his face, replaced by the impudent expression of a thug used to plowing down anyone who doesn’t bend.
Unfortunately for him, I’ve never been very flexible.
Armani stiffens, his hand moving subtly to his waist where he keeps his Glock.
Frisco spreads his hands. “We’re all family here. Let’s just have a conversation, nice and polite.” He looks at Armani, who doesn’t move his hand.
“I’m listening,” I say evenly. “We’re just talking, that’s all.”
“That’s right, that’s right. Look, we respect what you boys are trying to do…keep the Bellanti name clean. Go legit. But this mess with your father and the mechanic, well, word’s gotten around. You still need us. You still need our muscle, our intel.”
