Page 112 of Dante

Just then, Ciro enters the apartment with Biscotti by his side. He bends to remove his leash, and Gina’s puppy rushes over to greet us.

This time, though, he stops to see me first. I scoop him up and scratch him behind his ears.

“At least Biscotti knows who’s boss,” I tease.

“He’s just playing favorites because you bought him those furry friends,” Gina says.

“True enough.” I put the dog down. “I have to catch up on some work, but congratulations again.”

“Will you escort me to the awards ceremony?” she asks, giving me the date.

That’s a couple weeks from now, and I check my calendar. “I’ll likely have a call, but I suppose I could take it outside. I wouldn’t want to miss my wife winning first prize.”

“It’s not a sure thing yet,” she says, narrowing her eyes. “Unless you made a bribe.”

“No bribe needed. You’ll win.”

“How do you know? Are you psychic?”

“Any woman who makes her husband sit through five dinners in Little Italy just so she can sketch the nose belonging to an Italian chef deserves to win.”

“It wasn’t just the nose I was sketching.”

She scoots over to sit on my lap, kissing my neck as she looks up at me. “So what happens if I don’t win?”

“You’ll be punished. Severely.”

“Okay, then what happens if I do win?”

“The same thing.”

We laugh.

“Oh, Dante,” she says, “I love you so much.”

When Gina kisses my lips, my cock gets hard, despite all the emotional weight on my shoulders.

What would my father say if he knew I was planning war with his brother? What would Salvatore say?

Both men are dead, but I’m of the belief that the dead can observe the living.

I’m sure both believe I’m on the right path, the path of the future.

Salvatore in his day had no choice but to use bootlegging as a way of achieving the so-called American dream. Thankfully our family is moving toward the future Salvatore always envisioned.

And he’d be the first to agree that Silvio is wrong.

Silvio must be neutralized.

CHAPTER 44

DANTE

The night of the Academy’s awards ceremony, Gina sits beside me in the limo with Biscotti in her arms.

I can’t shake the feeling that I’m escorting my daughter to her first starring role in a school play.

The analogy is ridiculous.