I spotted Alfonso at the other table, drinking a glass of wine, when I’d just brought him back from the brink of death two days ago. “He really shouldn’t be drinking while he’s on those painkillers.”
My father followed my line of sight before he took a puff from his cigar. “He’ll be fine.”
“But his liver won’t be.”
“I’m sure you could fix that too.”
“Not unless I give him my own liver.” I looked at him as he held the cigar between his fingertips. “And what did I say about the smoking? We agreed to one cigar per day.”
“This is my one.”
My eyebrows lifted.
A slow smirk moved across his lips, and then he put out the cigar. “You win, Frankie.”
“She always wins,” Leo said before he took a drink of his wine.
“She keeps us alive, so she can get her way.” My father relaxed in the chair once more then sipped his wine.
The staff started to serve dinner, fresh fish from the market sauteed with spices and herbs and plenty of lemon, along with pasta in a rich tomato sauce prepared with pancetta. My father was served first as the head of the family, like always.
Leo eyed the food when it was placed in front of our father. “Cristo, that smells good.”
Elio must have been having a conversation with my father before I walked over, because what he said nextdidn’t sound introductory. “I can have him come by tomorrow.”
My father dropped the linen into his lap before he grabbed his fork and sliced into the tender pieces of fish. “Alfonso and Mattia aren’t dead. We don’t need another guy.”
“But they’re pretty much dead because they’re useless,” Elio said. “For the next four to six weeks.” He glanced at me. “Doctor’s orders.”
“I’m a nurse,” I reminded him.
“Same thing around here,” Elio said as he shifted his eyes back to my father.
“I don’t see eye to eye with Cosa Nostra,” my father said.
“Neither does he—so it’s a perfect fit.”
“Really?” My father tore off a piece of bread. “Because he sounds like a traitor and a rat.”
“Cosa Nostra let him live, so that must not be the case.”
My father stared at Elio as he chewed, thinking over what he said. “What’s your fascination with him?”
“I hear he’s good.”
“At?” my father asked.
“Everything. My sources tell me he was going to take over Cosa Nostra upon Don Russo’s death.”
“Nephew? Son?”
“No relation.”
The staff brought the rest of the plates down the table, starting with my brother and me and then serving everyone else. Other helpers brought food to the other table, trying to get dinner to the men as quickly as possible before it turned cold. The kitchen cleanup was going to be a bitch when this was over.
“I don’t know what their beef is, but if it’s genuine, we could have a serious player on our team,” Elio said. “It wouldn’t hurt just to meet with him.”
“Or he’s a Trojan horse and we’ve forgotten the lessons that history has taught us,” my father said as he spun his fork in his pasta then took a bite.
